


Come What May

by SorchaCahill



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Course Language, Enthusiastic Consent, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Resolved Sexual Tension, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Smut, Tags May Change, destructive thoughts, fictober19, survivor's guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2020-11-09 08:56:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 40,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20850800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SorchaCahill/pseuds/SorchaCahill
Summary: A series of short fics featuring Hawke and Sebastian and their slow burn relationship. Written for fictober19.





	1. It will be fun, trust me.

“It will be fun, trust me.”

Éowyn glared at Isabela and then back at the gown her friend was holding. “Placating my mother and going to one of Hightown’s soires is the exact opposite of fun. I’d rather go crawling through the sewers. Or the spider infested caverns in Sundermont. Or the Deep Roads.”

“Well, fortunately for me that’s not an option at this time. Besides you promised.”

“Promised, sure. More like blackmailed.”

“You lost a bet. This is you holding up your end of the bargain.”

Éowyn scowled. She hated this, hated every bit of it. Her mother’s life and her expectations were not her own and she had lived under them for as long as she could remember. She had never measured up to them no matter how hard she tried. She got to a point to where she stopped trying. Ever since Leandra had regained the Amell family estate in Hightown she had redoubled her efforts to get her daughter to conform. Efforts that Éowyn resisted. She had no desire to enter into Kirkwall society, had little patience for nobles, and would not be ‘encouraged’ into a marriage she didn’t want.

If she ever did marry it would be to someone she loved. 

_ But you do love someone _, the traitorous part of her brain whispered.

_ Shut up, what do you know. He’s not interested. _

_ You don’t know that. For all you know, he could be pining for you just as much as you are for him. _

_ Oh, fuck you. _

“Hawke. Hawke? Care to stop having whatever argument you’re having with yourself and try this thing on? We only have an hour or so before the party starts.”

“I don’t understand the point of these things,” she said as she snagged the dress from Isabela and started undressing. Isabela had found it… somewhere, said it would fit her perfectly. Éowyn really didn’t want to know how she knew that.

“Well, to see and be seen, of course. And then there’s the gossip. So many delicious tidbits to gather and hold on to for future reference. Perhaps a dalliance if you’re lucky.”

Éowyn ducked her head to hide the flush on her cheeks from her friend. While Isabela may be well versed in the goings on in bedrooms (and tables and boats and broom closets and Maker knew what else) she herself was much less… experienced. Her base talk didn’t bother her, it was actually a nice change of pace from the blood and battle she was used to. It was only when Isabela turned those whiskey brown eyes on her that that her amusement turned to unease. It wasn’t in her to have a casual romp, she needed more of a connection than just physical attraction, something her friend was well aware of. Not that it stopped her from pointing out potential playmates.

“I don’t plan on being there long enough to do any of that, much less _ that. _”

Isabela waved her hand. “Oh, you’re no fun.”

“We have decidedly different ideas of _ fun _.”

“And that’s what makes life so interesting, don’t you think? And who knows who will show up at this event? Perhaps a certain Chantry brother?” Isabela said slyly as she lounged on the window seat, studying her nails. 

Éowyn’s stomach lurched. And here she had thought that she’d kept her infatuation well hidden.

“Oh, don’t worry, darling. Your little secret is safe with me.” She slid Éowyn a conspiratal grin. “Though if you want to continue to keep it a secret you might want to keep those longing gazes to a minimum. It’s only a matter of time before our resident gossip picks up on it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Éowyn said as she struggled with the laces to her gown. Maker help her, if Varric found out she’d never hear the end of it. He wasn’t exactly subtle in his dislike of Sebastian.

“Oh Hawke, you’re adorable. You’ve been silently mooning over him since you first saw him. If it were me I’d have tried to find out what’s beneath those Chantry robes of his long ago.”

Éowyn’s cheeks flamed even more. Not because she hadn’t imagined such a thing but because she _ had _; she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t lain awake at night thinking about him. It was embarrassing. She wasn’t some fresh-faced young girl with her first crush and yet here she was.

“Nothing can come of it, Isabela. No matter what he says, he has commitments that have nothing to do with a mutt from Ferelden,” she said as she finally managed to get the laces to behave. Maker she was useless. Point her at a demon or darkspawn and she knew how to handle herself. Interpersonal relationships, anything deeper than basic friendship and she was lost.

“Horseshit.” Isabel said, her voice sharp. Éowyn’s head snapped up at the angry tone in the other woman’s voice. “I’ll kick anyone’s ass who talks about you that way, including you.”

Isabela slid off the window seat and marched over to where Éowyn stood. She placed her hands firmly on Éowyn’s shoulders and gave her a hard stare. “You deserve lovely things, deserve to be happy. If you have the chance for it, you grab it by both hands and don’t let go. You don’t want to be sitting at your fireside when you’re old and shriveled wondering what could have been.”

“I’m not going to push him into something. I won’t be that person. Between his parents and the Chantry, Sebastian’s been pushed into one thing or another against his will. I don’t need to complicate matters with a stupid crush.”

“You’re feelings are _ not _ stupid, Hawke. They’re valid, healthy feelings and you won’t know how he’ll react to them unless you do say something to him. I’ve watched you dance around him for the last three years, don’t you think that it’s time to do more than dip your pinky toe in?”

“I… Isablea, I can’t. I’m no good with people.”

“Again, horseshit. You’ve helped so many people over the last three years, done so much for this shithole of a city. I’d say you do just fine with people.”

“That’s different. That’s my job. It’s work.”

“So are relationships, darling.” She patted her shoulder. “Alright, I’m done nagging. You get enough of that from your mother and that’s about as close a comparison as I ever want with her. Let’s do something with that hair of yours and get you out the door before you’re more than fashionably late.”


	2. “Just follow me, I know the area.”

Summer in Kirkwall stank. Free Marchers like to say that Ferelden, and its refugees, smelled like wet dog but they conveniently forgot that their shit stank just as bad. Worse even depending were in Kirkwall you were. Like now, in the sewers, among the dead.

“This is disgusting Hawke. Beyond disgusting. Why are we down here again?”

Éowyn spared Varric a glance. The dwarf was particularly grumpy this evening, likely because she had interrupted his weekly game of Wicked Grace, one that he was winning, and asked that he help her out tracking down a smuggler. 

“We’re down here because someone is smuggling tainted lyrium into the city and desperate people are buying it.”

“That still doesn’t explain why _ I’m _ down here. Dammit Hawke, I was up by ten sovereigns,” he said, wiping some blood off of Bianca’s stock. 

“For your sparkling wit?”

“Well, you have a point there. Broody and Blondie back there aren’t the best conversationalists.”

“I am an excellent conversationalist, Varric. I have conversations all the time.”

“That’s because you like hearing the sound of your own voice.”

“Says the dwarf who tells stories to the masses.”

“I give the people what they want, Blondie. Who am I to disappoint them?”

“Are you two done flirting? We’ve got a job to do.”

“Maker’s breath, Hawke, the smell. These smugglers of yours must be making quite the profit to be willing to put up with this. My eyes are watering. This is almost as bad as darkspawn dung.”

“If the smell so offends you, mage, you could leave.”

“I run a clinic in Darktown. I think I can handle this. And you know, travelling the Deep Roads, hunting darkspawn-.”

“For the love of Andraste will the three of you shut up? Maker’s breath, Carver whined less when he broke his arm in three places,” Éowyn growled as she turned around and glared at them, the steely glint in her eyes warning them back. “Yes, Anders, the smugglers are making quite the profit according to my source. If there was perhaps less bitching and more walking we’d have found them by now and taken care of the problem.”

“Sorry, Hawke. Just trying to lighten the mood.”

“Well, less of that and more walking.”

“You sure you know where we’re going? All these tunnels look the same to me.”

“Just follow me, I know the area. This isn’t my first time down here.”

She got maybe five minutes of blessed silence before they started up again. They were quieter about it but she still heard them.

“Can you imagine Choir Boy down here?” she heard Varric whisper. “He’d get one whiff of this place and hightail it back up the the Chantry before a speck of mud dared to land on that shiny armor of his.”

“Oh please, Varric. He’d just pray at it. Any mud would flee in terror at the first hint of a sermon.”

Éowyn stopped abruptly, whirling around on them. “Actually, he has been down here with me and he was _ considerably _ less bitchy than all of you. So the next person who says a word that isn’t pertinent to the mission at hand is going to get a bloody nose and left down here to rot with the rest of the corpses.”

Her face was burning when she turned back around and marched down the corridor, her daggers gripped tight in her hands. It wasn’t often that she lost her temper but these three were definitely pushing it. 

It didn’t help that she was treading a fine line with Sebastian. When he had offered to help her she’d jumped on it, eager to spend time with him even if it was in the bowels of Kirkwall. She’d kicked herself later. Had she sunk so low that she was willing to wade through shit and blood just to spend time with him? Couldn’t she have come up with a less smelly option? He hadn’t seemed to mind, had in fact seemed all too eager to leave the confines of the Chantry. 

And that was another thing. His family was avenged, the murderers killed by herself, so why didn’t he recommit himself back to the Chantry? Or was he really serious about taking Starkhaven back from his cousin? Éowyn was hesitant to bring up the subject with him, not wanting to seem like she was pushing him in one direction or another. Regardless which path he chose she didn’t see her future with it even if she did bare her heart to him. They were from two different worlds, it was only chance that their paths had crossed.

Shaking herself out of her brooding, she focused on the path ahead of her. She had a job to do. Mooning over the unattainable would have to wait until later.


	3. “Now? Now you listen to me?”

“I may have miscalculated.”

“You think? You’re only human, Hawke.”

“A fact that I am well aware of. Ow,” she groaned as she tried to shift into a more comfortable position. “My body is one big bruise. Everywhere hurts.” 

“Of that I have little doubt,” Sebastian muttered as he wrung out the cloth, trying to ignore the red tinged water that filled the bowl. He gently lifted her chin and lightly dabbed at the gash that ran down her cheek. He murmured an apology when she hissed but continued his ministrations. Maker’s breath but she was terrifying. He could still picture that moment when the Tal-Vashoth qunari had charged at her, his blade coming down hard. By the grace of Andraste she had managed to dodge the blow, or most of it anyway. She was going to have an impressive scar running down her cheek. He mentally cursed Anders for doing one of his disappearing acts just when they needed him. He also cursed their bad luck at getting separated from the rest of the group. Merrill, while not well versed in healing magic could have at least done something. All he could do was clean the wounds and apply the elfroot poultice he had the forethought to bring with him. 

She was going to be the death of him.

“You need to be more careful. I told you to stay back. Taking on a nine foot raging qunari by yourself is not advisable. He damn near threw you off that cliff.”

Éowyn cracked open one eye and gave him a glare. Or a least she tried to. The growing bruise around her eye made it difficult.

“I wasn’t alone. You were there.”

“Aye, I was. Lucky for you I’m an excellent shot otherwise I’d be trying to explain to your mother how you died.”

She attempted to snort but instead cried out in pain. 

“I think my nose is broken.”

Sebastian looked up to see her reaching for it and quickly snatched her hand before she touched her nose. 

“Stop, just stop. Let me take care of you before you hurt yourself more.”

A strange look passed over her face as he held her hand and he felt his heart thump loudly in his chest. Those lime-green eyes of hers studied his face and he feared for a moment that she’d be able to read his thoughts. From the moment he first saw her he’d seen a light in her and he was drawn to it like a moth to a flame, as cliche as that sounded, and over the last couple of years that flame had only grown brighter.

He often found himself at odds with his vows, both to the Chantry and that of Starkhaven, and his feelings for her. 

If he’d met her before, years ago during his misspent youth he wouldn’t have hesitated a second in pursuing her. Now that he was older, the rough edges smoothed out by time and prayer, he hesitated. Hesitated to the point where he was certain that she saw him as nothing more than a friend.

It shamed him that he wanted more than that. Greed was a sin in the eyes of the Maker, but Andraste help him, he wanted more of her. 

“Just lie still. I’ll set it once I’ve cleaned you up.” His voice was rougher than he had intended. The feel of her soft skin under his calloused fingers stirred thoughts that were better left unthought.

Much to his relief, she relaxed back down against her pack, closing her eyes again. He spent the next few minutes cleaning off as much blood from her face as he could, applying the elfroot poultice to the jagged wound slicing up her cheek.

“Okay, let’s fix that nose of yours. I have some extra padding that you can stick up your nose.”

Éowyn opened her eyes again, taking the soft cloth her offered. “You’ve done this before.”

“Let’s just say that I earned my reputation in my misspent youth. I don’t have anything to give you for the pain,” he said, regret clear in his voice.

“That’s okay, I’m used to it.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her about that but he set it aside to focus on the task at hand. He waited as she stuffed the cloth up her nostrils and then placed his hands on her face, thumbs lining up with her nose.

“Alright on three.” He counted to two and shifted the cartilage before getting to three. Éowyn yelped in pain, letting out a stream of creative expletives that was truly impressive. 

“Bastard. You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” she accused, removing the cloth from her nose, wiping away the remaining blood.

“What do you think? Maybe next time you’ll use a little more caution when taking on someone nearly twice your size. You’re not replaceable, you know,” he said, and then immediately cursed himself for letting that slip. He really needed to try harder to reign in his emotions around her. He feared that was going to be an impossibility the more time he spent around her.

“Well, that’s flattering if inaccurate,” she said slowly. “But you’re right. I should be more careful.”

Sebastian looked up from his pack, disbelief painted clear on his face. “Now? _ Now _ you listen to me? After I had to reset your nose and clean you up? Maker’s breath Éowyn, you’ll be the end of me.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth he instantly regretted them. They were too personal, too revealing of what he felt. But he just couldn’t help himself. The thought of her being gravely injured, or worse, scared him to the very depths of his soul.

He expected her to come back at him with some snarky remark at best, shouting at worst, but she was uncharacteristically silent. When she finally did speak it was the last thing he had expected to hear.

“You called me Éowyn. No one does that.”

Sebastian wasn’t certain how to respond. It had just slipped out. 

“I… my apologies, I-.”

“No, it was nice. I get called Hawke so much that sometimes even I forget that I have a first name.” Her brows were scrunched together, a sad, thoughtful look on her face. After a moment, a soft smile rose on her lips. “Thank you, Sebastian.”

Sebastian rubbed the back of his neck, inexplicably embarrassed. He ducked his head, using the excuse of repacking his satchel to cover his embarrassment. “It’s a lovely name. It suits you.”

If he’d been looking at Éowyn when he’d said those words, he would have seen her face go pink. If he’d been able to hear her heart, he would have heard it skip several beats. If he’d seen and heard he might have realized that his attraction and affection wasn’t so one-sided.


	4. “I know you didn’t ask for this.”

“I know you didn’t ask for this, but please, just hear me out.”

Éowyn leaned against her desk, arms crossed over her chest. Irritation was building within her. She just wanted one evening to herself, just one. It didn’t seem like a big ask but apparently the world thought otherwise.

“You know I wouldn’t come to you with this if it wasn’t important.”

“Varric, your asshole of a brother tried to kill us the last time we saw him. The fucker nearly  _ did _ kill Bethany because of what he did. If Anders hadn’t been there, if we hadn’t found the Wardens when we did I’d have yet another death on my conscience.”

“He’s a nug-humping bastard for sure, which is why I want to be sure on this. If he really is back and has that idol with him,” he paused, taking a deep breath. “Hawke, we can’t let anyone else get their hands on that thing. It drove Bartrand mad and he was mostly sane beforehand. I don’t want to even think about what would happen if someone came across it, didn’t know what it was and started fooling around with it.”

Éowyn pinched the bridge of her nose. Varric wasn’t wrong. The idol was trouble and would only cause more trouble if it got into the wrong hands. 

“Alright, but we’re going to need back-up. No offense, but I’m not walking into a haunted house with just you at my back. You’re too close to this. We both are.”

Varric sighed. “When you’re right, you’re right. Who’s available?”

* * *

“When I asked who was available I didn’t think you’d go for the next closest warm body. We could have done this without Choir Boy,” Varric muttered to her as they approached Bartrand’s estate.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers, Varric. And he was there when we stopped at Fenris’ place. We couldn’t have just taken off without him.”

“Well,  _ I  _ could have. What was he doing there anyway? Trying to bring Broody into Andraste’s bosom?”

“He’s helping Fenris learn how to read. We both are,” she said, taking a quick look over her shoulder before continuing. “I don’t understand your animosity toward him. He’s a good man.”

“Good at waffling, you mean. The Grand Cleric’s not wrong when she told him that he spins about like a weather vane in a strong wind. He needs to shit or get off the pot and decide what he wants to do.” He slid his gaze toward her. “You could help him in that regard. He’ll listen to you.”

“No, I won’t do that. I’m not going to pressure him into a decision that I have no business poking my nose in. It’s none of my business.”

Varric snorted. “Sure, Hawke. You keep telling yourself that.”

“What the hell are you talking about? And keep your voice down,” she hissed, taking a quick glance over her shoulder. She needn’t have bothered as it seemed that Fenris and Sebastian were deep in conversation about something.

“You do a good job of hiding it but it’s obvious to some that you have feelings for him.”

Panic threaded through her belly. “He’s just a friend. Nothing more.”

“If you say so.”

“Varric-.”

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. And with Isabela.”

Internally Éowyn seethed, her hands clenching into fists. This was not a discussion she wanted to have, especially when the subject of said discussion was merely feet away.

“Let’s just get this over with.”


	5. “I just might kiss you.”

She hadn’t seen this much rain since Ferelden. Kirkwall had a reputation of being hot and dry. It often felt like standing in a blacksmith’s forge but this morning the skies had opened and released their burden upon the city below. Her armor was soaked through, chafing in uncomfortable places but she didn’t have time to worry about that. She and Fenris had been searching through the back alleys of Lowtown for information on Carta activity when suddenly the sky was filled with more than just rain. They were quickly surrounded by almost a dozen of who she could only assume were the very Carta members they were looking for.

“Okay,” she said as they squared off back to back. “Maybe you were right and we should have brought along another person.”

“You think, Hawke? If we get out of this alive I just might kill you,” he growled. Éowyn had only a moment to roll her eyes before the gang descended on them. Together they fought against the gang, blade meeting blade, blood splattering the ground. Every time she thought that they were winning more showed up as if from out of thin air.

And then one of the assholes deciding tossing in a gatlock bomb would be a good idea. 

The dwarf let out a mad giggle as he lit the fuse. Yelling for Fenris, she ducked behind some crates and felt the earth shake when the bomb exploded. Shrapnel of bone and wood exploded over her and she was blasted back, hitting the wall behind her with such force that she lost the air in her lungs. Her ears rang as she tried to stand up but her balance was off and she fell back to the ground. She’d managed to hold onto one of her daggers but the other was nowhere in sight.

Before she had a chance to look for it, a figure leapt out from the shadows and she only just managed to bring up her blade up in time to stop herself from getting skewered. The force of the attack put her on her back, the dwarf’s foul breath flooding her nostrils. 

“You humans think you’re so smart. No so smart now, are you?”

“You going to talk me to death or let your breath do it for you?”

“Bitch. This is what you get for interfering in Carta business.”

“Talking to death it is then. Great.” Éowyn tried to leverage her hips to get him off but the dwarf was solidly built and had her at a distinct disadvantage. It was all she could do just to hold his blade back.

_ Where the fuck is Fenris _ , she thought, blinking fiercly to keep the rain out of her eyes. _ If he’s dead, I'm going to kill him. _

The blade inched closer to her throat, so close that the tip was close to breaking through her skin, when she heard a whistling sound and two arrows impaled the dwarf’s head. Blood gurgled out of the dwarf’s mouth as he went limp and collapsed on top of her, his blade scraping down the side of her neck. 

Swearing, she pushed the body off of her and made to stand up when a hand appeared in front of her face. 

“You looked like you needed some help,” Sebastian said lightly, his eyes full of worry as she looked up at him. Éowyn took his hand and let him help her up. 

“You have excellent timing. I just might kiss you.”

Sebastian offered her a bemused smile as he handed her a handkerchief. Éowyn mentally cursed herself and blamed the adrenaline still coursing through her veins for her loose lips. She dabbed at the scratch on her neck and looked back up at him, realizing just how close he was standing and her heart sped up for a completely different reason.

Clearing her throat, she took a step back and surveyed the area. The gatlock bomb had nearly destroyed the area. Nothing was left unscathed.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you, but why are you down here? And alone at that. It’s dangerous.”

He reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair off her face and Éowyn felt her heart hitch again. What was going on?

“Clearly.” He pulled his hand back but kept his gaze on her. “I was in the market and heard shouting. I heard the explosion and came running. Imagine my surprise when I saw you in the middle of it all,” he said dryly.

Before she could answer, something collapsed behind them and both Éowyn and Sebastian whirled around, her crouching low with her single dagger as he knocked an arrow, targeting the noise. She watched with held breath as a Carta member’s body slammed against the wall, falling dead to the ground, and Fenris emerged from the debris, his lyrium tattoos glowing.

“Maker’s breath, are you alright? I thought you had gotten caught in the explosion.”

“Nearly did.” He kicked at the dead Carta, his lips twisting in distaste. “Smugglers. Can’t say that I’m sorry they’re dead but there went your lead, Hawke.”

“Yeah, well, there are always more Carta.”

“They were waiting for us Hawke. Your so-called source betrayed you.”

“With a name like Sketch I should have expected it. Dammit.” 

“Your source’s name was Sketch.”

“Shut up, Sebastian. I had a plan. Just didn’t count on the gatlock. Underestimated their stupidity” She looked at both men, a dangerous gleam in her eyes. “I won’t next time.”


	6. “No, and that’s final.”

She had expected the trip to the Vimmark Wastelands to be difficult but she hadn’t expected this. Bethany had met them on the border, sullen and irritated at the whole situation. She’d barely spoke more than a handful of words to her after Éowyn had told her what was going on. Bethany still hadn’t forgiven Éowyn for what had happened in the Deep Roads all those years ago, for turning her over to the Grey Wardens. What should she have done though? Let her die of the taint?

Well, fuck that. Better an angry sister than a dead one. 

She led their small party down into the Grey Warden prison, her and Sebastian taking lead while Fenris and Bethany followed further behind. Bethany had claimed no knowledge of what the Grey Wardens had locked away here so many years ago, said that it was just as much a mystery to her as it was to Éowyn, and while there was no cause to doubt her sister she couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps she was holding something back.

She hated this. Hated the anger and resentment that lay between them but she had no clue as to how to bridge that gap and fix it. Being at odds with Bethany was new and uncomfortable; she had hoped that with time Bethany would have found it in her heart to forgive her but it would seem that wasn’t the case. Something she seemed to share with their mother. Leandra had never forgiven her either. Not only for Bethany’s induction to the Grey Wardens but also for Carver dying. Like she could have stopped the idiot from charging a twelve foot ogre. He’d done it to save her and Bethany but Leandra didn’t see it that way.

Éowyn shook those thoughts out of her head. It did no good to dwell on her mother’s opinion of her, she would never measure up no matter how hard she tried. She was quickly coming to the sad conclusion that the easy relationship she’d once shared with her sister was a thing of the past. 

She was so fucking tired of losing her family.

“Are you okay? You’ve got that look on your face.”

Éowyn spared Sebastian a glance before focusing back on the path. He was dirty and bloodied and disheveled, and so very far from the way he was when they had first met that it was almost hard to believe they were the same person. After the fight with the dragon his face had been flushed with excitement, his normally calm facade torn down, and he’d looked at her with such intensity that it had made her stumble. Literally stumble on bare ground. Bethany had given her an odd look, one that she had studiously ignored.

“What look? I’m fine.”

“Of course you are. And I’m the next coming of the Maker.”

She let out a most unladylike snort. “You’re a mite taller than I would expect the Maker to be.”

“Being the Maker, I’m sure that He could take whatever form He pleases.”

She gave him another side-eye. “Aren’t you going to get struck down by lightning or something for joking about the Maker like that?”

Sebastian looked up at the ceiling, as if searching for something.

“Hmm, it would appear not,” he said, and then turned those too-blue eyes on her, humor sparking in their depths.

A bark of laughter escaped her. “I can’t believe you just made a joke like that.”

“I’ve been known to make a joke from time to time, lass.”

Her breath hitched just a tiny bit. He’d been more relaxed around her as of late and she wasn’t really sure of the reason. Perhaps relaxed wasn’t exactly the right word, but there was definitely something different. He’d called her something in his native Starkhaven the day they left Kirkwall, and while she wasn’t familiar with the language at all, it almost sounded like a term of endearment.

But that was ridiculous.

Wasn’t it?

“Well, are you going to tell me what’s stirring around in that brain of yours?”

Éowyn hesitated just a moment before answering. “It’s nothing.”

“For something that’s nothing, you sure are thinking it pretty loud.” He paused a beat. “I’m told I’m a good listener. If you should ever need one.”

She chewed on her lower lip, indecision near paralyzing her. He was still dealing with the fallout of what had happened to his family, how could she lay her complaints about hers at his feet? It wasn’t fair.

“There you go. Thinking loud again.”

This time she scowled at him. Maybe she didn’t like this less restrained version of him after all.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine. Let’s just keep going.”

“Well, when you decide you’re not fine, I’m here for you.”

She found herself having to blink back tears. When had anyone shown her such compassion?

“I appreciate that. Truly,” she said quietly. “But you needn’t bother yourself.”

The frustrated, angry sigh he let out surprised her. “You have an infuriating habit of not accepting help when it’s offered.”

“What? I-.”

“If you keep carrying your burdens all by yourself, you’ll buckle, and I don’t think I can bare to see that. You’ve taken on this mantle of protector but has anyone ever offered to lend you their protection?”

“I don’t-.”

“I’m going to take that as a no.” His brogue had thickened and his temper was picking up. Éowyn stared at him in wonder. Where was this coming from? 

“During the entire time I’ve known you, you’ve taken on one challenge after another, barely taking time to breath between. It’s like you’re afraid that if you stop, something horrible will happen. I’m afraid that if you  _ don’t _ stop, something horrible will happen.”

They had stopped on the path some time during their argument, Éowyn wasn’t sure when, and they were now facing each other trading glares. 

“Do I get to say something now?”

“No, and that’s final.”

She waited just a few seconds before she responded.

“You do realize that’s the exact opposite of what you were just asking me.”

Sebastian let out a huff of exasperation and ran his hand through his already mussed hair. It took a surprising amount of willpower not to reach out and smooth it down.

“You know very well what I mean, Éowyn Hawke.”

“So your companions do know your first name. And here I thought that you had dropped the first name altogether.”

Éowyn looked over her shoulder to see that Bethany and Fenris had caught up with them. Just how much of their argument had they heard? She prayed very little. She wasn’t up to trying to explain whatever it was that was going on between them.

“He’s the only one who uses it,” she mumbled, embarrassment running through her for some reason.

“Is that so?” Bethany gave Sebastian an appraising look, as if she was reassessing something.

“Let’s go, we’ve got work to do” Éowyn said before her sister could say anything more. She’d already suffered through one Inquisition today, she didn’t fancy another.


	7. “Yes, I’m aware. Your point?"

“She’s been up there awhile.”

Sebastian was pacing in the main room of the Amell estate, trying to contain his nerves. He wasn’t even sure was he was nervous about. Well, that was a lie. He’d seen the pained look on Éowyn’s face as she went through her messages, her hand stilling as came across a thick envelope with a heavy wax seal on it. Her face had paled but when he’d asked her what was wrong she just shook her head and excused herself up to her room, shutting the door behind her and leaving him and Fenris to stew. 

That had been nearly twenty minutes ago and his agitation only increased with each minute she stayed up there.

“She’ll come down when she’s ready,” Fenris said, not looking up from the book he was reading, his finger tracing the lines on the page.

He knew Fenris was right but that didn’t calm his nerves any. He couldn’t help himself but he worried about her, constantly. And when he wasn’t worrying about it he was thinking about her in one way or another. Just the other day he’d been walking through the Hightown market and passed by a flower vendor. They were selling bouquets of crystal grace, something that one didn’t find often here in Kirkwall but he knew it to be common to Ferelden and he wondered if Éowyn liked them. She’d never said so one way or the other but he’d seen her face whenever they left the city and ventured into the greener parts of the Wounded Coast. The load on her shoulders seemed lighter when they were out there, as if just by leaving the city her worries were less. He couldn’t help but wonder what she would think of Starkhaven.

“You should just tell her.”

Sebastian paused his pacing and glanced over at his friend. Fenris hadn’t looked up from the book he was reading but he was still clearly paying attention to what was going on around him.

“Pardon?”

“You should tell her how you feel. It’s obvious you’re worried about her. Even I can tell that.”

“Éow--, Hawke’s a dear friend. Of course I’m worried about her.”

“Then you should say something.”

Sebastian thought for a moment to deny it, thinking that if he gave words to what was in his heart it would ruin their friendship and the mere thought of that scared him more than any demon.

He sighed and sat in the chair across from Fenris, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his thighs. “What should I say, Fenris? What do I have to offer?”

A loud snort was the last response that he would have expected. Sebastian looked up from his hands to see his friend set the book aside and fix his gaze on him.

“You’re no longer a brother in the Chantry, correct?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Sebastian said slowly, unsure of where his friend was going with this.

“You renounced your vows, rather forcefully, over four years ago.”

“I am aware.”

“And you’ve yet to retake your vows.”

“Again, I’m aware. Your point?”

“Have you ever wondered why that is? The Grand Cleric was not exactly subtle the last time we saw her about you, how did she put it? Returning back to the flock.”

Sebastian felt his cheeks burn. He remembered that conversation vividly and remembered feeling Éowyn’s eyes on him as he fumbled out his answer that he still had work he needed to do before he could do so. Her expression had been inscrutable and he still had no idea how she would feel if he did retake his vows. The Grand Cleric had said that if he did retake his vows, he would have to fully commit himself to the Chantry, to become a cloistered brother. It was unlike her to take such a hard stance, especially considering the leniency she’d shown him when he was first sent to the Chantry. 

“You’re also the Prince of Starkhaven.”

Now it was Sebastian’s turn to snort. “In title only. And barely at that. My cousin holds the throne.”

Fenris sighed. “I know enough of politics from my time under Danarius to know that the throne is only as strong as the person who holds it. From what I’ve heard your cousin isn’t the strongest willed of men.”

“He’s a bloody idiot,” Sebastian grumbled.

“The only one holding you back is you, Sebastian.”

“She has too much on her plate right now. The qunari are making noise, gang activity in the city is getting worse. She’s being pulled in seven directions at once. I don’t want to add to that pile, I don’t want to add to her burdens.”

“I know I’m probably not the best person to say this, but how does sharing your feelings for her add to her burdens?”

“It just… it just does.”

“Well, that’s just stupid.”

Before Sebastian could put together an answer the door upstairs opened and Éowyn walked out in full armor and carrying a heavy pack. He stood up abruptly from his chair, nerves flowing through him as she descended the staircase. She normally hid her emotions well but he could well feel the rage boiling off her from ten feet away.

“Éowyn? What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I have to go to the Vimmark Wasteland,” she said tightly, walking over to her desk, opening up drawers and pulling out their contents, letting them fall to the floor as she gathered up whatever loose coin had been hiding in there.

“The Wasteland? Why? What’s wrong?” he asked again, shooting Fenris a worried look. 

Éowyn didn’t say anything for a moment. Instead she retrieved a heavy wooden box from the mantle. Opening it, she pulled out a particularly wicked looking dagger, one he hadn’t seen before, and stuck it into her belt.

“Someone’s looking for the blood of Hawke and rather than waiting around for them, I’m taking the fight to them. You don’t need to come, I can-.”

“Stop. Just stop. You’re out of your mind if you think we’re going to let you go by yourself.” He shot Fenris a glance and was relieved to see the elf give them a nod. 

“You’ve got your responsibilities to the Chantry, Sebastian,” she said, purposefully avoiding his eyes. “I can’t ask you to slag off for weeks on what’s probably a suicide mission.”

He took her by the shoulders, all too aware that Fenris’ keen eyes were watching, and giving her what he hoped was a stern and not desperate look.

“If you think that’s going to dissuade me from coming I’m afraid I will have to disabuse you of that notion, _ mo chridhe _. I'm coming with you.”


	8. “Can you stay?”

Éowyn wasn’t sure she’d ever been in this much pain. She’d done some stupid things in her time, but a one-on-one dual with the Arishok had to be at the top of the list. Perhaps she hadn’t been in the right state of mind when she agreed to the duel, but it was either that or have a full-on melee in the Viscount’s Keep. And Maker knew that there had been enough death that day.

She should have seen it coming. Sister Petrice and her ilk had been stirring up trouble with the qunari almost from the moment they first arrived. Her attitude toward the Ferelden refugees wasn’t much better. Éowyn couldn’t help but think that it was only a matter of time before they revolted too. 

As horrible as the qunari uprising and its outcome had been it wasn’t their faces she saw when she closed her eyes at night. Whenever she slowed for a minute she saw her mother in Quentin’s lair, her body broken but her mind intact. That was probably the most horrifying thing of all. Leandra had known exactly what was done to her and knew that there was no coming back from it no matter how much Éowyn swore that she would fix it, somehow she would fix it.

She had pleaded with Anders to do something, _ anything _, and when he couldn’t she had punched him in her grief. It had taken both Fenris and Sebastian to pull her back. After the rage had passed she’d shut down, closed out everything. She probably would have collapsed but then the Arishok started the uprising and she didn’t have time to think or grieve.

Now, in bed, broken and bruised, all she had was time.

She lay curled on her side facing the fire, staring mindlessly into its flames. Merrill had sparked it upon seeing that she couldn’t stop shivering despite Kirkwall’s summer heat and the piles of blankets she was burrowed under. As the flames danced before her, she willed the elfroot potion Merrill had given her to start working quickly and let her fall into oblivion.

“You should try to eat something, Hawke. I think that Orana made some of that yummy soup of hers. She made it last Summerday, remember? And you said how much you liked it. I could run down and get you some. I could-.”

“Merrill, please. I love you but I need you to go. I need to be alone.”

“Oh, Hawke, are you sure? I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Alright, but we’re downstairs if you need anything.” Merrill stood, smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles on her dress. Éowyn heard her soft footfalls retreating to the bedroom door and the door open. “We all love you too, Hawke. Get some rest.”

Éowyn waited until she heard the door click close before she turned her face into her pillow, willing to shut out the world beyond. She knew her friends meant well but she couldn’t deal with their pitying looks. She’d seen it in their eyes ever since they left Quentin’s lair and hated it. 

Ignoring the tears that slid down her cheeks Éowyn closed her eyes and willed sleep to come, willed the voices in her head to leave her alone.

_ You should have tried harder. _

_ Did you really think you would win? _

_ You destroy everything you touch. _

_ Do you really think you deserve happiness? _

_ You are poison to those around you. _

_ It’s only a matter of time before your friends see you for the failure you are. _

_ Only a matter of time before they leave you. _

_ Before he leaves you. _

The voices swirled around in her head, their edges sharp and hot, piercing her soul and heart. She felt their claws dig into her, rending her flesh from her bones. Blackness swirled around her, dragging her down. Fire and ice burned in her veins as the whispers grew. She felt a blade in her hand, its weight dragging her arm down, and she tried to fight back the demons but there were too many, they were too strong and she was just one person.

Something sharp pulled through her stomach and she cried out in pain, clutching at her side. Blood, hot and sticky seeped through her fingers as she stumbled back, her legs crumbling beneath her. 

_ Why do you get to live when they died? _

A silent scream ripped through her as thick ropes curled around her, tightening their grip the more she struggled. 

_ Why don’t you just give up? _

“NO!”

The single word ripped out of her throat as she was flung out of the nightmare and into darkness. The fire that Merrill had started earlier was near down to embers and the single glowlamp threw off only a weak light.

It took her a moment to realize that she wasn’t in bed but on the floor next to her bed, her sheets wrapped around her like snakes. She sat there for several moments, blinking heavily as she willed her heart to slow down.

She was still sitting there when Sebastian opened the door. His brows drew together when he saw her there, worry in his eyes as he set the tray he’d been carrying on her dresser and walked over to her. He knelt down and reached out and brushed back her sweaty hair that was plastered to her face.

“Are you okay?”

Éowyn stared up at him, her mouth dry and her throat sore. Had she been screaming in her sleep? She didn’t think so. He wouldn’t be so calm if she had been.

“I’m fine.” She tried to get to her feet but her legs refused to cooperate with her. After a second attempt she looked up at him and winced at the concern on his face. She swallowed her pride and a sigh. “I don’t think I can make it back to bed under my own volition.”

“You only need to ask,” he said before scooping her up gently in his arms with ridiculous ease. She wasn’t a small woman by any means, all long and gangly limbs that had stuck out at awkward angles until well past her teenage years, but he almost made her feel small while he held her in his arms. 

Rather than put her in bed however, he took her over to the chaise that she rarely used and set her gently down. At her questioning look, he gave her a soft smile and patted her hand. “Your sheets are soaked with sweat. No sense in getting back into bed until we change them. I’ll also bring you a basin of water so you can wash yourself.”

“You don’t have to do that, Sebastian. They’ll probably just get sweaty again and I don’t want to put more work on Orana than necessary.”

“Hush,” he said, walking back to where he had left the steaming bowl and brought it back to her. “Remember what I said about letting others help? Eat while I get everything ready.”

It was easier to do as he asked than argue and she really didn’t have the energy to do so anyway. She was drained in more ways than one and it wasn’t exactly a hardship watching him move around her bed and strip the covers off. He was clad in breeches and a loose shirt, and it occurred to her that she’d never seen him without his armor or Chantry robes. It was definitely a look she could get used to.

_ Stop it _ , she ordered herself. _ He’s not here for you to ogle. _

It was then that she remembered that she was wearing only a sleepshirt and her smalls. She hid her burning cheeks by ducking her head and focused on the soup rather than her indecency. She didn’t consider herself a prude by any means, she’d let both Anders and Merrill poke and prod at her without issue, but it was different when the person doing the proding was someone you had been pining after for years.

“I guess you were hungry.” Startled, she looked down at the bowl and found it near empty; she barely remembered eating it. “Here, some water to wash while I get some fresh sheets. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Again, it was just easier to do as he asked than argue. He’d also gotten her a fresh sleepshirt from Maker knew where. Orana probably. At least she hoped so. 

By the time she finished she felt almost human. A full bath where she could immerse herself would have been even better but probably inadvisable at the moment with the shape her body was in. With her luck she’d pass out and drown in her own tub. A rather ignoble end to a life where she often got bloodied fighting creatures made of nightmares.

She had just pulled the fresh sleepshirt over her head when he came back in, clean sheets in his arms. She spied Orana just outside the door but he shooed her away with a quiet word she couldn’t make out. Brow furrowed in confusion she wondered why he would do such a thing. She’d hired Orana for, well, maybe not _ this _ particular situation, but for ones like it.

It didn’t take him long for him to make the bed but by the time he was done exhaustion was setting in again. Healing was hard work even with the aid of magic. Her eyes were drooping when she felt herself being lifted up. 

“I’m perfectly capable of walking the five feet to my bed, Sebastian.”

“Perhaps, but it’s just easier this way.”

She had a snarky reply for that but bit her tongue. She would never admit it outloud but it was nice to be the one who was being taken care of for once. Maybe it was selfish and inappropriate but she was glad it was him. Though she did wonder why he drew the short straw.

“The others figured that you’d be less likely to hit me than them,” he said when she asked. “Though I do think Varric is rather hoping that you’ll take a swing at me.”

Éowyn settled back into her bed, a frown marring her face. “I’m not a monster. I only punch people who deserve it.”

He chuckled. “Tell that to Anders’ nose.” He sobered quickly as he sat on the edge of the bed and took up her hand in his. “We’re all here for you, you know that right? I’m, _ we’re _ not going anywhere. You’re not alone.”

Éowyn felt her cheeks grow red, not only from his words but from the feel of his calloused fingers on her skin. Or more accurately just how much she enjoyed it. Bethany had been the hugger in the family whereas she tended to keep a step back from people. Beyond the occasional pat on the back or handshake she didn’t really have physical contact that didn’t involved weapons. A dark part of her wondered just how long she could stall him just so he would keep holding her hand.

“Remember that conversation we had about you charging nine-foot tall angry qunari?”

Éowyn wrinkled her nose at him. “This was different.” When he raised an eyebrow at her she doubled down. “It is. If I hadn’t agreed to the duel, it would have turned into a bloodbath. How many more people would have been hurt or died if I hadn’t fought him. This way only two people’s blood was shed.”

“Too much of it was yours. You almost died, Éowyn. If Anders hadn’t been there, if we hadn’t had a dozen elfroot potions on hand, you’d be with Andraste now.” He let out a shaky breath before tightening his grip on her hand. “While you may have saved lives, you were also reckless. You agreed to that duel without a thought of the consequences. You scared me.”

Éowyn looked down at their joined hands. What was she supposed to say? That she regretted her decision? 

“I’m sorry I scared you but I didn’t see any other option that ended without more death. Maybe I wasn’t thinking clearly, I don’t think so but I’ll allow that it’s a possibility. At the time it was a black and white situation, one with a clear answer. There’s been too many times lately where that hasn’t been the case. I was able to do something _ before _ any more people got hurt. I had to save someone.”

Tears suddenly filled her vision and her throat felt tight, making it difficult to breath. 

“I couldn’t save her, Sebastian. I tried, I tried so hard but I couldn’t. She’s dead and it’s all my fault.”

Sobs wrenched through her as he pulled her into an embrace, murmuring soothing words as the storm broke over her and all the emotion, the pain, the anger, everything, let itself out. She gripped fistfulls of his shirt and leaned into him, reaching out for stability. And he gave it willingly, without reservation. He pulled her into his lap and held her close as she cried.

Éowyn wasn’t sure how long she cried but eventually she ran out of tears and felt hollow, the pain carved out with a dull spoon. Even though the tears had passed she still hung onto him, needing that human contact, the sense of stability he gave her. She found that she didn’t want to let that go. No matter how inappropriate, no matter what their friends would think, no matter what the Chantry said, she didn’t want to let it go.

“Can you stay? Please?”

“Of course. All you had to do was ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so this one got away from me a bit which is why it's a day late. Hope you liked it!


	9. “There is a certain taste to it.”

“Have I mentioned how much I hate Orlais?”

“In the last hour or overall? Because those numbers are vastly different, Hawke.”

“Well, what’s one more? I hate Orlais. I hate their clothes, I hate their ridiculous masks, I hate the stupid Game. I even hate their food.”

“What, you don’t like despair ham? There is a certain taste to it that’s distinctive, no doubt. If I didn’t know better I’d say it was roasted nug.”

“If anyone would know that Varric, I suppose it would be you,” Éowyn said, not even bothering to keep her scowl hidden. Why had she let herself be talked into this farce? To retrieve some relic? Considering what had happened the last time she went to recover some relic she should have thought twice about this venture. Being ambushed in the Hightown market by Antivan Crows had not improved her mood any. Nor had being forced to deal with Duke Prosper. If ever there was a person deserving of being punched in the face, it was him.

“This whole wyvern hunt is barbaric. It’s one thing to defend yourself if you’re out in the wild but to actively hunt one down? And use dogs to flush it out? It’s just so, so…”

“Orlesian?”

“Shut up Varric. Where is Tallis? The sooner this charade is over, the sooner I can get out of this ridiculous outfit.”

“The outfit comes with the increased notoriety, I’m afraid.” At her baleful look, he put up his hands in defense. “Hey, I’m just speaking the truth here. You saved Kirkwall single-handedly from the qunari. Well, almost, but you had to know that the nobles were going to make a fuss about it seeing as you saved their bacon.”

“Being declared Champion is one thing,” she said, giving him a pointed look. “But did they have to build that fucking statue in Lowtown?”

“Compared with all the other Tevinter statues it’s actually not bad.”

“First thing we do when we get back is destroy it.”

Varric laughed. “Good luck with that. I’ll make sure that Aveline has a jail cell ready for you.”

“I’m the fucking Champion of Kirkwall, Varric, I should be able to pick out my own damn statue.”

“Hate to break it to you Hawke, but the heroes never get to pick their own statue. And you seem grumpier than normal.”

“I’m fine.”

“Uh huh. Sure. And I’m the Empress of Orlais.”

“I said I’m fine. I just want to find this jewel and get out of this Maker-forsaken country.” 

“This wouldn’t be because you left Choir Boy back in Kirkwall, is it?”

“I didn’t leave him in Kirkwall, Varric. He had business that required him to stay there.”

“Why do I feel like I’m not getting the whole story here.”

_ Because you‘re not _ , she thought. She wasn’t about to tell her dwarven friend that ever since that night when Sebastian had held her while she cried she’d fallen even deeper down the rabbit hole in love with him. She couldn’t tell him that she had rushed them out of Kirkwall so Sebastian didn’t get the chance to tag along. She couldn’t say that it was getting harder and harder to be around him without letting her true feelings show. She couldn’t say any of that knowing that she’d get nothing but disappointment and a lecture from Varric. 

So she bit her tongue and said nothing.

Scanning the crowd she finally spied their redheaded elven friend. Grateful for the timely interruption she elbowed Varric and jerked her head toward Tallis.

“Finally. There she is. Better find Anders and Fenris. Hopefully they haven’t murdered each other. We have a wyvern to kill.”


	10. “Listen, I can’t explain it, you’ll have to trust me.”

_ “A Ferelden refugee that did well for herself. Against all odds.” _

Éowyn couldn’t get the conversation with King Alistair out of her head. While it was true that her elevation to Champion of Kirkwall had increased her visibility to certain members of society, never in her wildest dreams would she have thought that she would meet the king of Ferelden, much less have him ask for her help.

_ “Against all odds.” _

She was sure that the king didn’t mean it as an insult, had in fact probably intended it to be a compliment but part of her rankled at it. It was true that from day one Kirkwall had been set against her and her family; if it hadn’t been for Gamlen’s dubious connections she was fairly certain she’d be rotting in Darktown now. Or dead. Or worse.

_ “Ferelden will always be my home.” _

She’d told him that, but was it really? She’d been in Kirkwall for close to seven years and she now had the means to return if she wished to. What was there to really hold her here? With her mother dead and her friends at each other’s throats more often than not what was the benefit of staying in this Maker-cursed city? Wouldn’t it be better just to start over?

She just didn’t know. Part of her, a large part, knew that she was doing good work here in Kirkwall, but the other part looked at what she had done and saw how with every step forward she took, the city took two steps back. It was like pushing a boulder on a mountain with her feet stuck in mud and Maker she was tired.

_ Maybe if the Chantry actually did what it said it stood for instead of backing Meredith’s tyranny it wouldn’t seem so hopeless. _

Éowyn darted a glance at Sebastian. They were walking through the Lowtown market trying to gather information regarding one of the gangs harassing the vendors. It was a new group from what she could tell, taking advantage of the gaping hole left behind when the qunari left. Even though they had mostly kept to their compound, the qunari presence had kept some of the criminal element at bay. At least during the day time. Walking around Lowtown at night meant taking your coin purse and life in your hands.

“It’s been over an hour Éowyn, I don’t think we’re going to find anything. That and it looks like it might rain. If the market closes down I doubt these thieves will show up.”

Éowyn pursed her lips as she glanced at the sky. Sure enough the clouds were dark and heavy and already some of the merchants were packing up early, not wanting their wares damaged by rain. 

“A little rain never hurt anyone, Sebastian. I know this group uses the market as it’s hunting ground. Just a few more minutes,” she said.

“Are you sure? There’s more than one market in Kirkwall, and I hate to say it but this one isn’t frequented by people with heavy coin purses.”

“Listen, I can’t explain it right now, you’ll just have to trust me,” she said, pulling her hood further down as a passerby gave her a double look. It had gotten more difficult to do scouting missions like this ever since she had been named Champion and her face was more well known. Obscurity had its benefits when you were looking to take down a band of thieves.

She’d made Sebastian wear a less,  _ memorable, _ set of armor when he insisted on coming with her. She could hide her face behind a rogue’s hood but that shining white armor of his could be seen from the moons that watched over Thedas; not exactly ideal when they were trying to go incognito. Surprisingly he hadn’t put up much of a fuss about it, though he had insisted on bringing his grandfather’s bow and considering their mission it would be stupid not to be armed.

Thunder pealed overhead and she was about to call it when she saw a flash of crimson and steel out of the corner of her eye. She ducked just in time to avoid the dagger that had been thrown at her head. Snarling, she took after the would-be assassin, vaulting over an empty stall to try to close the gap. She heard Sebastian shout behind her but she kept going. Ever since she’d returned from Orlais, things in Kirkwall had been relatively quiet, for Kirkwall anyway, and this was the first bit of action she seen ever since Duke Prosper had fallen from grace.

The assassin darted into one of the alleyways just as rain burst from the clouds. Éowyn’s boot skidded on the wet stone and it was only with sheer will and her excellent sense of balance that she managed to stay on her feet. She pushed off the wall she nearly crashed into and followed the path forward. The little bastard was fast, she’d give them that, but she was faster. And meaner.

An arrow whizzed by her head from behind and without looking back she knew that Sebastian was close behind, firing at the assassin while on the run. She’d never seen anyone work a bow the way he could; whether standing still or at a full run he rarely missed his target. As it was, the arrow caught the cloaked figure on the upper arm and they yelped in pain even as they pulled it out and kept running.

The rain started coming down harder, plastering her hair to her face and making it difficult to see. They came around another corner only to find that it was a dead end and the would-be assassin nowhere in sight. Éowyn looked up and saw only a flat wall with no hand holds to be seen. 

“Motherfucking shitballs.”

Sebastian was at her side seconds later, slightly winded after the chase, and let out a curse of his own when he saw the empty alleyway. 

“Did you get a good look at them?”

“No, the bastard kept their hood up the whole time. I couldn’t tell you under threat of torture if they were male or female. Could have been a human or an elf. Dammit!” Éowyn swore before kicking a pile of garbage, and swore again when her foot hit something harder than she expected.

“Éowyn, calm yourself. We’ll pick up the trail again.” He placed a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to calm her but she shrugged it off angrily.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she snapped, tempted to punch a wall and just barely managed to restrain herself. “Whoever that was, they weren’t a part of any theft ring. They were after my head.”

“It’s a good thing that you know how to duck then.”

Éowyn glared at him. “Don’t try to placate me, Sebastian. I’m tired of people trying to kill me.”

“I’m not fond of it either. I rather like the idea of you living.”

She merely snorted and walked further into the alcove, searching again for any sign of her assailant. The rain made it difficult. Any footprints they might have left had quickly been washed away by the downpour. She angrily wiped water off her face and glared at the wall.

“I’m even less fond of you throwing yourself into danger.”

Éowyn turned and gaped at him. “We’ve known each other for years and I’ve been throwing myself into danger long before that. Why is this an issue now?”

He stared at her for a moment, silence drawing out between them. There was an expression on his face that she didn’t recognize and it made her uneasy. 

“I’m finding it’s always been an issue but it’s worse now,” he said, taking a step closer. Éowyn watched, near paralyzed as he took her hand in his, his thumb brushing over her bare knuckles. Her breath caught in her throat and she blinked heavily as he directed his intense gaze at her.

“You keep yourself rather self-contained. You don’t often lose your temper. You think over your options before taking action,” he paused, taking a deep breath. “Or you did. Ever since your mother died, since the uprising you’ve been more impulsive, reckless even. It worries me.”

Éowyn swallowed heavily. This wasn’t fair, him talking to her like this, caressing her hand as if it were something precious. There was a reason why she’d kept her distance from him since that night, this reason. She knew that he saw her as a friend, a companion, nothing more. Her heart just couldn’t take him showing this type of affection. 

“I’m fine. I’m dealing with it.”

“By dealing with it does that mean smashing a vase against the wall?”

Her eyes widened. How did he know about that? She’d been cleaning her mother’s room when she found the vase with white lilies in it. The petals were drooping and the edges had a slight brown tinge to them and they served only to remind her of what had happened to her mother, to all the women that Quentin and his protege had taken and viciously murdered. Her vision had gone red and the next thing she knew the vase lay in pieces at her feet, the flowers strewn about. She remembered standing over the shards, her breath coming out in hard streams as her eyes burned.

“Orana told me. She came to me after services last week, explained what happened.”

“Why would she come to you?” she asked, internally wincing at the harsh tone to her question. 

“She’s worried. She says that you barely eat, sleep even less. You can’t keep this up,  _ mo chridhe _ . You’ll break if you do.”

“I’m not some piece of fragile Orlesian glass, Sebastian.”

“No, you’re more like Ferelden steel, but even the strongest blade will shatter if not taken care of.”

She stared back at him, unsure how to respond. Anger flared within her, but it flashed out leaving her tired. More emotions than she could name whipped through her, so fast that it felt like her head was spinning. In self-defense she tried to pull her hand back but he tightened his grip.

“I know this city has taken much from you but you’ve also given a lot to it. Too much, in some ways. I don’t think that the Maker would wish such a bright star to flame out. Nor do I.”

Her chest ached and she averted her gaze. This was too much.

“You shouldn’t say such things, Sebastian. It’s not right,” she said softly. 

“There’s nothing wrong with showing concern for someone you care deeply about.”

He cupped her chin with his other hand and tilted her head up so that their eyes met. The rainstorm had calmed to a fine mist but they were both soaked. She watched as a rivulet of water travelled down his cheek, gathering on his jawbone before falling to the collar of his armor. It was easier to focus on that than his intense gaze.

“I do care for you Éowyn, more than I probably should.”

“I don’t understand.” And she truly didn’t. Her confusion must have shown on her face for he let out a soft chuckle. His thumb brushed over her lower lip as he stepped in closer to her.

“Neither do I. You spin me about and yet center me at the same time. I find myself wanting to be a better man for you.”

“Why?”

He laughed again, pressing his forehead to hers. “Why does the heart do anything?”

She didn’t know how to respond to that. Their breaths mingled as time inched by. And in that dirty back alley of Lowtown, just minutes after they had chased the cloaked figure who had tried to kill her, Sebastian cupped her other cheek and held her gently as he kissed her. He tasted faintly of cinnamon and her senses were quickly overwhelmed. She wasn’t used to gentleness, to everything that he stirred within her as she gave in and returned his kiss. 

Eventually he pulled back, resting his forehead against hers again, letting out a shuddering breath. Éowyn opened her eyes that she hadn’t realized had closed and loosened her grip on his armor. She sighed softly and basked in the heat that rolled off him.

“What about your vows?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“I haven’t reaffirmed them. Not as the Grand Cleric wants. We’ll figure this out. Trust me.”

She pulled back and looked at him, a cautious hope blossoming in her heart. Maybe, just maybe they could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said slow burn with these two idiots and _technically_ it is, within game anyway. What can I say, y'all knew what you were in for when you came here. ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	11. “It’s not always like this.”

“It’s not always like this.”

“Are you kidding me, Hawke? It’s  _ always _ like this. If it’s not demons or power hungry templars trying to kill us, it’s one of the dozen gangs in Kirkwall. Oh, and don’t forget the blood mages. They’re out for your head as well.”

They were all sitting in Varric’s suite above The Hanged Man, all eight of them crowded around the table in a room that wasn’t built to hold this many people at once. They normally met downstairs but Éowyn had deemed this conversation important enough to have in private. It would have been more comfortable at the Amell estate but half of them were here anyway when she and Sebastian had walked in so it was just easier to send off a couple of runners to get the rest of them.

“You always do manage to bring out the best in people, Hawke. Do you have any idea who this wanker is?” Isabela asked, watching her with those keen whiskey eyes of hers. Éowyn tried not to squirm. The kiss she’d shared with Sebastian was still fresh on her mind and with him sitting right next to her, it wasn’t likely to fade any time soon. And she didn’t want it to. She kept wanting to pinch herself to make sure it wasn’t a dream, that her subconscious wasn’t playing some horrible trick on her.

“No, they had a red hood up over their face. Bastard was fast too and somehow managed to disappear almost right before our eyes. Sebastian did managed to wing them in the arm with an arrow but they were just too fast.”

“I thought you never missed, Choir Boy.”

“It was raining and we were running down a dark alley, cut him some slack Varric,” she said, trying to figure out just how she was going to wrangle this bunch of idiots together to cooperate long enough to find whoever it was that had tried to use her head as target practice.

“Did you say a red hood?”

Éowyn turned her gaze to Merrill and found her friend clutching her hands together. “Yes, very red. What’s going on Merrill?”

“Oh, well, one of the children, Tasha, she came to me last night, said she saw men in red hoods prowling about. She said they were talking to people, questioning them. She said they were asking about you.”

“Me? Why?” 

“What were they asking?” Sebastian asked, a slight edge to his voice. Éowyn flicked him a glance. They hadn’t had much of a chance to talk since that kiss in the alleyway and now that she’d had some distance from it, she wasn’t sure how to proceed. He’d told her that they would figure it out, and she hoped so, she really did, but at the moment she couldn’t spare the time. She was a target, which meant that he, or any of her friends, could be too.

“Lots of questions but no one would talk to them, even when they got a bit nasty.” Merrill turn her wide green eyes at Éowyn. “The elves know what you’ve done for them Hawke, how you’ve helped us. They wouldn’t betray you to a bunch of thugs. I was going to tell you, but, well, they came after you before I could. I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Merrill. You’re telling me now.”

“That’s all good and fine but what do they want with Hawke?”

“Isn’t it obvious, Blondie? They want Hawke’s head.”

“So just another Tuesday then,” said Anders as he slumped back in his seat, letting out a heavy sigh.

“Yeah,” Éowyn said. “Just another Tuesday.


	12. “What if I don’t see it?”

“Okay, spill it.”

Éowyn looked up from the letters she was sorting, her brows furrowed together as she looked over at Isabela. The pirate lounged in one of the chairs, leg slung over one of the arms as she idly studied her nails. To all appearances she appeared relaxed and at her leisure but Éowyn could tell at a glance that her friend’s attention was utterly focused on her.

“There’s nothing to spill. I explained everything back at The Hanged Man.”

“Oh, maybe about your new fan but something else happened. I can tell.”

“Tell what?”

“That something happened between you and that tall drink of water from Starkhaven.”

Éowyn flushed but tried to keep her face neutral. She was reluctant to say anything. Sure Isabela had picked up on her infatuation with Sebastian early on but what would she say if she knew what had happened in the alley? The sly look on her face said that she was very keen on knowing.

“Nothing happened.”

“Oh, that’s a load of bullshit and trust me, I am an expert in bullshit. What, did the both of you have a good snog?” There was a slight pause before Isabela swung her legs back over the armrest and sat up straight, her eyes bright. “Andraste’s knickerweasels, you did, didn’t you?”

Now she felt her face burn and was pretty sure that her face was as tomato red. She didn’t like gossiping, especially about something this personal, something that meant this much. Isabela must have seen that on her face as the predatory look on her face faded, replaced by something else. Kindness maybe? Mercy?

“Oh, sweet thing, this is a big deal for you, isn’t it.”

“The biggest.” Éowyn dropped the letters on the desk and went to stand before the fireplace. The hearth was cold now, no need for a fire when it felt like the city was on fire. Sure the rain had helped. For a while. Now on top of the heat the air felt solid when you tried to walk through it. Just another day in paradise.

“Isabela, I,” she paused. “I’ve never, I mean. You know.”

“Done the horizontal remigold? Shake the sheets? Play nug-a-nug? Have a little afternoon delight?”

“Not how I would put it, but no.”

“Why? No, I’m honestly curious. It’s not like you haven’t had offers over the years. I’ve seen more than one poor sap try and hit you up. I’ve also seen you let them down. Gently, most of the time, not so gently a couple of times.”

Éowyn shrugged. “It just never felt right. None of them felt right.”

“And it does with the Choir Boy?”

“I wish people would stop calling him that.”

“Okay, Sebastian then. So, what is it about him?”

“He’s nice.”

Isabela gave her a long look. “He’s… _ nice _.”

Éowyn gave her a defiant look. “Yes, nice. Not without his flaws, but he’s nice. I’ve not had much of that.”

“It doesn’t hurt that face of his looks like an angel. Those lips of his. I wouldn’t mind him laying one on me.” She smiled, her eyes lighting up. “I’m guessing he laid on you.”

“Yes. In the alley. In the rain.”

Isabela sat up straighter. “Wait, he kissed you in the rain? Declared his love for you? You realize that sounds like one of Varric’s crappy romance serials, right?”

“He didn’t declare love. Not really, but yes, he kissed me and I kissed him back.” Éowyn felt her cheeks grow warm. “Bela, I’ve never felt anything like this but it really doesn’t change the fact that nothing can come of it. I’ve said that before.”

“Oh bullshit. I’ve said _ that _ before. Listen Hawke, if he makes you happy, truly happy, don’t you think that you should fight for it?”

“How Isabela? I’ve said before I won’t force him to choose between me and his path.”

“His path. What about yours? Yours together. I’ve seen how you look at him, _ and _ how he looks at you. There’s a path there.”

Éowyn looked down at her hands, uncertainty filling her. “What if I don’t see it? See the path?”

“I say,” Isabela drawled as she stood up and walked over to her. She placed her hand on her shoulders, giving them a light squeeze. “I say, you need to be open to it. You’re not going to find the path if you don’t look for it. To be open to it. I know I’m not the best for all the fuzzy, love-dovey stuff but you are. If you care for him as much as I think you do, don’t you think you should give it a chance before you shut the door?”

“But-.”

“Now you listen to me, Éowyn Hawke. There are no buts here. You’ve dealt with a lot of heartbreak, both here and in Ferelden. If you don’t take this chance I’m going to kick your ass.”

Éowyn laughed so hard she snorted. “Okay, Bela. I will.”

“There’s my girl.” She patted her on the cheek. “Though, if he does break you heart, I'll kick his ass.”


	13. “I never knew it could be this way.”

Éowyn stood over the body of the leader of the Crimson Weavers. Blood dripped down the curved edge of her daggers, staining the wooden floor beneath her feet. He had such a look of surprise on his face, like he couldn’t believe that he’d been defeated. Not that he and his gang hadn’t given it their best effort. It had taken several weeks to track them down and in the meantime they’d made several more attempts on her life. They’d gotten precious few answers from the ones they had captured. Two of them had taken their own lives rather than talk. She had to wonder what inspired such loyalty. Looking at the corpse of the Jakeson Hall at her feet she couldn’t help but wonder if blood magic had something to do with it. The city was rife with blood mages. Not all of them were power mad and murderous but enough were that it put the city on edge and caused Meredith to put even heavier restrictions and penalties on the mages living in the Gallows.

But that didn’t excuse any of Meredith’s actions. She was just as power mad and murderous but she had the support of the Chantry and hundreds of years of so-called tradition backing her up. Few were willing to oppose her and those that did, they did so in secret so that they didn’t land in prison. Or worse. Meredith’s restrictions and punishments sometimes leaked out to the citizens of Kirkwall.

“Well, I guess that’s one problem solved. What should we do about this mess? Sneak out the back and leave it for the guard like always?”

Éowyn spared Varric a glance before cleaning her blades. How many people had she killed over the years? How much blood did she have on her hands? How many bodies had she left in her wake?

The fact that she didn’t know the number made her want to vomit. 

She rationalized it by saying that it was either them or her. That her survival depended on their death, that she was doing this for the greater good. And for the most part she thought she was but lately doubts were beginning to sink in. 

She looked over at the survivors, trussed up like a Wintersend turkey and wondered if she was making a mistake by leaving them alive. With the way justice was handed out in this city they’d either have a quick drop with a sudden stop in the Gallows or they knew someone with enough coin to grease some palms and spring them from prison, free to continue whatever mayhem they pleased.

So much blood had been spilled in Kirkwall over the decades, over the centuries that a part of her couldn’t help but think that the city was cursed. That all who lived here were doomed.

“Hawke?” 

“Yes, just like always I suppose. We made enough ruckus here that I’m sure someone called the guard. This lot won’t have to wait long.”

“Yeah, the nobles here get a bit twitchy when they hear blades clashing. I suppose having their heads on a qunari chopping block with do that.”

“Yes, one little viscount gets their head lopped off and everyone gets in a tizzy. Shocking,” Anders drawled. “It’s almost as if you threaten someone directly, shove the problem in their face, that you’ll get a genuine reaction from them.”

Éowyn chose to let Anders’ comment go than react to it. Over the last year Anders had gotten increasingly moody and secretive and she couldn’t help but wonder if it had something to do with the spirit that resided in him. She’d be lying if she said that the whole idea didn’t make her skin crawl just a little but he had proved a loyal friend and companion during her time in Kirkwall. A bit whiny at times and prone to outbursts, but over all loyal. 

“You look beat Hawke. Why don’t you let Blondie and I here clean up this mess and you head home. Take Broody over there with you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you insinuating that I need a bodyguard, Varric?”

“Not at all but it doesn’t hurt to have some backup. Fenris doesn’t mind, do you Fenris?”

“Since I’ve been volunteered, I suppose not.”

Sighing, she sheathed her blades. She knew her friends were being careful, and after the last couple of weeks she couldn’t really blame them, but the near constant hovering was beginning to grate. They had just finally backed off after the whole thing with her mother and then the Arishok when this business with the Crimson Weavers popped up.

“Fine, let’s go then.”

* * *

The city was quiet as they made their way back to the Amell estate. It was just past dark and the stars were just coming out. If one didn’t know better they’d say that it was peaceful. Éowyn let out a rueful laugh. Peaceful. When was the last time she’d experienced that?

“Something funny, Hawke?”

“Not really. Was just thinking about how the city seems peaceful right now. You only have to peel back a few layers to know just how much of a lie that is.”

“I can’t argue with that. I thought that my time in Tevinter under Danarius was dark but Kirkwall does give it a run for its money.”

“With Danarius dead, you don’t have to stay here, you know. You could go anywhere.”

Fenris snorted. “Where would I go? Find a dalish clan? Join a mercenary company?” He looked down at the lyrium brands on his skin. If one didn’t know better they could be taken for a vallaslin like the dalish wore but upon closer look you’d find that they weren’t. That is, if Fenris let you get close enough to look. “No, Kirkwall suits me just fine for now. What about you? What’s holding you here? Just because you’re the Champion of Kirkwall doesn’t mean you’re beholden to these people. Half of them would gladly slit your throat if they thought it benefited them and they could get away with it.”

“Gee, thanks for that Fenris. You sure know how to make a girl feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

“I’m serious. You say that I could go anywhere which we know is a lie, but you? You could. You have enough money to start over anywhere and this city hasn’t exactly treated you kindly. What’s stopping you from leaving?”

“I… I’m not sure.” They were just crossing into the Chantry courtyard, moonlight casting large shadows over the stones, and she thought about the man inside, and the future they could have. She had promised Isabela she would try to be open to the possibility of a future with Sebastian but weeks had passed since that kiss and they’d barely seen each other during that time. Fate had kept them apart one way or the other and she was beginning to have doubts.

“You’re not sure. Right. You used to lie better, Hawke.”

_ Dammit. _

“I’d say you should go talk to him but it seems that he’s come to you.” Fenris gestured to the door to the Amell estate and sure enough Sebastian was just coming out. He spotted them quickly enough, a smile on his face until he saw the blood splattered all over them.

“What happened?”

“Finally tracked down the leader of the Crimson Weavers. I don’t think they’ll be a problem anymore.”

“They won’t but it’s only a matter of time until the next fool gets it into their heads to try and take a shot at you. One would think by now that they would know better.”

“Not helping Fenris.”

Fenris put up his hands as if to ward off an attack. “I think I hear a bottle of Aggregio calling me,” he said as he gave them a tiny salute before fading into the shadows.

_ Traitor, _ she thought. 

“But you’re okay?” Sebastian’s eyes roamed over her, looking for injuries, worry written all over his face. 

“I’m fine. Just a few bruises. Nothing to get all excited about.”

“I’m not-. Okay, I am, but don’t you think that I’m allowed to worry?”

“Worry, yes, but don’t get any ideas of telling me what to do.” Her words came out harsher than she meant and she immediately felt guilty. “Sorry, I’m tired and covered in other people’s blood. It’s been a long day.”

“I can see that. Then I won’t bother you any longer,” he said stiffly, starting to turn away.

“No, wait!” She hated the edge of desperation in her voice. “Sebastian, wait. Look, I’m new to all of this. Fuck, I don’t even really know what _ this _ is.” She ran a hand through her hair in frustration, scowling when it came away sticky. Maker, she really was a mess. In more ways than one.

He turned back to her, a guarded expression on his face. Maybe he saw the frustration on her face, maybe the desperation, but regardless, his gaze softened. He stepped forward and took her hand in his, and despite it being blood-splattered, raised it to his lips and kissed her bruised knuckles. Éowyn felt her stomach flip flop at the gesture. Isabela was right. This was like something out of one of those cheesy romance serials.

“Some might call it a romance,” he said as he straightened but kept hold of her hand, his gaze capturing and holding hers.

“Is that what they call it? Me covered in blood and sweat and you-.”

The rest of her words were swallowed by his mouth as he swooped down and kissed her. Surprised by his actions, it was all she could do to hold on as her senses overwhelmed her. A small whimper quickly turned into a moan as he deepened the kiss, his fingers threading into her hair. This was nothing like the nearly chaste kiss they had shared in that alleyway, this was more intense, more raw and like nothing she had ever experienced. 

_ I never knew it could be this way, _ she thought as she gripped the front of his leather jerkin and kissed him back. He ran his tongue over her bottom lip before nipping it with his teeth. His arm snaked around her waist and pulled her flush against him and it flashed through her head that if any of her neighbors were to look out their windows they’d get a good view of the Champion of Kirkwall and a Chantry brother snogging on her doorstep. 

The thought made her giggle and soon she was laughing into his kiss. Sebastian pulled back, still holding her but a puzzled look on his face.

“I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you or this. Not really.”

“Do tell.”

She spread her hands out over his armor, her lips tilted up into a smile. “It just came to me that we’re not exactly in a private spot here. Anyone looking out their window could see us.”

“And does that bother you?” he asked, his fingers stroking the side of her neck.

“Not really. But,” she paused, her smile turning mischievous. “Which way does the Grand Cleric’s quarters face?”

His fingers stilled and she watched with fascination as he blushed. He rubbed the back of his neck with his other hand and she found it completely adorable. 

“Over the Chantry garden. Fortunately.”

“It would be a bit like your mother walking in on you, wouldn’t it?”

Sebastian just shook his head, taking a step back but not letting go of her. “A bit, yes.”

Her stomach took that moment to gurgle. Loudly. 

“When was the last time you ate?”

Éowyn frowned as she tried to remember. She didn’t think it was longer than midday. Maybe. She’d certainly had breakfast, that much she remembered as Orana had practically forced her to eat.

“It’s ah, been awhile. Orana probably set something aside for me in the warmer.” She paused, uncertainty setting over her. “Would you… would you like to join me? For dinner that is.”

“I would like that, yes. But might I suggest that you wash up first. You do smell rather rank.”

Éowyn swatted him on the arm. “I’m aware of that but it’s rather ungentlemanly of you to remark upon it.”

“My deepest apologies, my lady. How can I make amends?” he asked, a teasing light in his eyes. 

“I’ll think of something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alistair was wrong. Not _all_ swooping is bad. :D


	14. “I can’t go back.”

“Merrill, are you sure about this? What do we really know about these eluvians? We don’t know where they lead. What they can let out.”

“You should have smashed the thing when you first found it.”

“Just because you’ve abandoned your heritage Fenris doesn’t mean I have. Or will. The eluvians are a connection to our past. Just think of the knowledge we could gain. Could regain. This could mean a new start for our people.”

“The dalish are  _ not _ my people, mage. I have no people.”

“Well, that’s not true now, is it? You have both Hawke and Sebastian. You have friends here. Sure they’re not elves but they’re still your people,” Merrill said, standing before the mirror, frustration showing plain on her face. “It should work. I just don’t understand why.”

Éowyn shot Fenris a glance. She had deliberately kept Arulin'Holm from Merrill, abiding by Keeper Marethari’s wishes, and only the two of them knew about it. Guilt still plagued her as she knew how important the mirror and her heritage were to Merrill but she hadn’t been able to ignore the pit in her stomach that she felt every time she looked at the mirror. And she really didn’t like Merrill’s obsession with the thing.

“I’m sorry to ask for help again Hawke, but this is so important. The spirit who helped me with all this to begin with, I think he can help. He knows things.”

Fenris swore viciously in Tevene. “You’re as bad as the abomination. Consorting with demons. This is reckless.”

“I know what I’m doing, Fenris. Hawke, the spirit said it was there at it’s conception, it knows how to cleanse the corruption, I just know it.”

“I don’t know, Merrill. Fenris has a point. You can’t trust spirits.”

“Demon, you mean,” Fenris grumbled under his breath.

“I’m aware that there’s no such thing as a good spirit, Fenris. Despite what the lore says about spirits, they’re all dangerous. A lesson Anders never learned,” she said sadly before turning to Éowyn. “I know what I’m doing, Hawke, I just need you to trust me.”

“I do trust you but I don’t know. This seems risky.”

“It is, I know. I know it can go very wrong and that’s why I need you to come with me. Just…” Merrill trailed off, her eyes going distant for a moment. “Just in case something goes wrong.”

“Merrill, what are you planning?” Éowyn asked carefully, unease filling her.

“Like I said, I need to speak to the spirit. I know you disapprove, that all of you do, which is why I trust you to do what’s needed if the worst should happen.”

Éowyn sucked in a sharp breath, her unease turning to dread. “You mean if you get possessed.”

Merrill gave her an even look. “Yes. If I am possessed, I need you to kill me. I won’t live my life as an abomination.”

* * *

“I can’t go back, can I? My choices, my decisions, all of it led to me losing my clan.”

Éowyn sat down next to Merrill and put an arm around her friend’s shoulder. Merrill’s small frame was shaking from grief as tears poured down her cheeks. Keeper Marethari was dead, sacrificing herself to keep Merrill from risking possession. They’d nearly had to fight the entire clan but by some miracle Éowyn had been able to talk them down but they had made it very clear that if they ever saw Merrill again that her life was forfeit. They sat at the base of Sundermount, Éowyn insisting that they stop and rest when she saw that Merrill was about to break down.

“The Keeper loved you Merrill. That is plain to see. If I had been in her position and had the chance to save a loved one’s life, I’m not sure that I would have made a different decision.” 

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sebastian’s head whip toward her at her words and she forced herself to focus on Merrill. She knew that he would not like the idea that she would sacrifice herself like Marethari but it was a simple truth: she would do damn near anything to save those she loved.

“That’s very noble of you Hawke, but I was willing to take the risk. She should have trusted me.”

“Love makes you do crazy things.” Éowyn took a deep breath. “Look Merrill, I know this wasn’t how you wanted this to end and I am so sorry about Marethari. If there had been a way to save her, I would have.”

“I know, Hawke, I know, but the moment the Keeper let that demon in she was gone.” Merrill’s eyes filled up with tears. “She’s gone Hawke. She’s really gone.”

Merrill broke down in sobs and collapsed into Éowyn’s arms. Éowyn held onto her knowing that there was little else she could do. She met Sebastian’s eyes over Merrill’s shaking form, remembering a night not so long ago when he had held her when she had cried for her mother and she couldn’t help but wonder if he knew just how much that meant to her. By the look he gave her she suspected that maybe he did.


	15. “This is what I’m talking about.”

“No more? I still have arrows.”

Éowyn shot Sebastian an incredulous look as she slit the throat of the last darkspawn. His face was flush with something like excitement as he lowered his bow, an arrow still nocked. They were surrounded by over a dozen darkspawn corpses and she had to swallow the bile that rose in her throat. She’d had more than enough of the Deep Roads and darkspawn to last a lifetime.

“That’s a lot of excitement for someone who is crawling through blight-infested tunnels and fighting darkspawn.”

“The Grey Wardens do noble work, work that no one else can do. Being able to aid them in that endeavor is an honor.”

“I hate to break it to you Sebastian, but we’re not Grey Wardens. Well, one of us is but you get my point.”

“Indeed. Wading through festering rot to fight creatures made of nightmares only to go to an early grave? Very noble and honorable work. Definitely not my idea of fun,” Anders said dryly.

“Then why did you join?” Sebastian asked.

“It was either join or suffer an undeserved fate at the hands of an overzealous templar. The Warden-Commander conscripted me and saved me from the hangman’s noose but in turn blessed me with a slow death from the taint. Seemed like the lesser of two evils at the time. Plus, the Warden-Commander sure was a looker.” Anders shook his head. “The things I do for a pretty face.”

“The darkspawn killed my brother, drove us out of Ferelden and burned my homeland in their wake. Their taint infected my sister and the only way to ‘save’ her life was for her to join the Wardens. Something she still hates me for it,” Éowyn said quietly, none too happy with either of them at the moment. “I’d die happy never to step foot in the Deep Roads ever again. The Wardens can keep it.”

She sheathed her daggers and stalked away before she lost her temper. If it hadn’t been for the desperate look on Delilah Howe’s face she would have never agreed to come down here. She knew what it was like to lose a sibling and if she could spare just one person from that it was worth the pain of being down here. 

“While you two are stuffing your feet in your mouths, I’ll be watching Hawke’s back. I am disappointed in you. Both of you,” Aveline said, looking pointedly at Sebastian. “I expected better.”

Sebastian looked at Éowyn’s retreating back and felt shame flood through him. He’d been so caught up in his hero worship of the Wardens that he hadn’t noticed how being down here pained Éowyn. With the exception of their venture into the Warden prison, they most often crossed paths with bandits, mages, and demons, rarely darkspawn. He felt like a fool for not noticing it sooner.

“In case you were wondering, this is what I’m talking about when I asked you about taking responsibility instead of focusing on your needs,” Aveline hissed at him before following Éowyn further down the tunnel.

“Oooo, we made Aveline mad. Doesn’t really take much and she’s never liked me, but she is really annoyed with you. Why is that?”

“None of your business, Anders. And she’s right to be angry. We were careless with our words.”

“Yes, yes, and now Hawke’s got her knickers in a bunch. I told her that even if Bethany survived the Joining that her life would-.”

“For once in your life Anders would you think about someone other than yourself? Éowyn is in pain and all you can do is make snide comments and jokes. And you call yourself her friend.”

“I think about other people’s lives all the time but because they’re  _ mages _ they don’t count in the eyes of the rest of the world. As for Hawke, she knew the dangers of the Deep Roads and darkspawn long before we stepped foot into that thaig. If she wanted Bethany to be safe she should have left her behind.”

Sebastain saw red. Before he knew what he was doing his fist smashed into Anders’ face, blood gushing from the man’s nose. Anders stumbled back, shock and surprise plastered on his face.

“You punched me,” he said, incredulity filling his voice.

“Aye, I did. And I’d do it again.” Sebastian waited for guilt to set in over hitting the man but it didn’t come; something he’d have to atone for later. He flexed his fist, resisting the urge to hit him again. It was unworthy of him but he couldn’t just stand by when a supposed friend made light of her pain. “As I said, she’s in pain and has enough on her plate, no thanks to the cesspool that is Kirkwall. If you can’t support her maybe you should leave.”

Anders wiped the blood from his nose and glared at him. “Oh, I care, trust me. I’ve done more for her than you’ll ever know. You’ve been up in your ivory tower for so long that you’ve forgotten what real struggle is like. Just because you wear that ridiculous armor doesn’t make you a shining knight on the way to rescue the fair maiden.”

Sebastian was about to take another swing when a sharp voice interceded. 

“If you two are done measuring your manhood, we have a job to do.” Both Sebastian and Anders looked toward the voice to see Aveline standing several yards away, her arms crossed over her chest. Her scowl was enough to instill guilt where years of Chantry service had failed. Sebastian wasn’t sure what to think of that. He and Aveline weren’t always on the best of terms; she had been very blunt about what she thought of nobles and their usefulness and though he hadn’t been a part of that life in years the comment still burned. For if Aveline thought that way, what did Éowyn think? He knew that she had little use for nobles as well but she still helped when asked.

“My apologies.”

“Don’t apologize. Just start moving before she notices. I don’t get paid to deal with your bullshit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, neither of them come across very well in this chapter. Men.


	16. “Listen. No, really listen.”

Éowyn sat in the back garden of the Amell estate, stretched out on a padded recliner. It was the one space where she felt most at peace. For once the weather was pleasant, the normally oppressive Kirkwall heat giving way to something that resembled a Ferelden summer. A pang of homesickness washed over her as she thought back to the days of her childhood when things had seemed so much simpler.

She knew better of course. Distance and time made it seem simpler but it had been anything but that. They rarely stayed for long in one place, forced to move when too much attention was brought to the family, her father in particular. Being an apostate in a Chantry-run world was a dangerous thing. And no matter how careful they were, no place was really safe.

As the oldest it had been her responsibility to help watch over the twins, Bethany especially once her magic had manifested. She remembered that day clearly, the resignation on her father’s face and her mother’s unconsolable sobs. Bethany’s confusion, asking if she was going to get punished; Carver’s anger causing him to burst out of their small cottage, slamming the door behind him. Standing there in that tiny room, Éowyn knew in that moment that what little childhood she’d had was over. 

And here she was now, years later with no family to protect. She had friends for whom there was very little she wouldn’t do for them but it wasn’t the same. Gamlen was still around somewhere but they’d never been close and after her mother had died they had lost what little tenuous connection they had. Bethany, while still alive, was nearly a stranger to her now. She’d been surprised to find her with Nathaneil Howe in the Deep Roads; she hadn’t even known that her sister was in the Free Marches much less this close to Kirkwall. Éowyn had tried to hide the hurt that knowledge had brought and she thought that she’d been mostly successful. Bethany had told her that she’d come to accept her fate as a Warden but Éowyn could tell that her sister was still working on forgiving her. 

She let out a heavy sigh before taking a sip of the lemonade that Orana had made. Éowyn wasn’t sure where she had gotten the lemons and she was afraid to ask how much they cost. Despite the fact that she was relatively comfortable now as far as money went, it was hard to break a lifetime’s worth of watching every coin spent and stretching that coin as far as it went. 

But now, in the back garden she could almost pretend that she wasn’t in Kirkwall; the high walls blocked most of the city noise. One of the benefits of having money was the ability to block out the ugliness of the world, at least for a little while. The garden had quickly become a sanctuary for her and she retreated to it when the world became too much. Orana had coaxed some native Ferelden flora to grow in the flowerbeds, somehow ferreting out which were her favorites. Crystal grace petals shimmered in the afternoon light, the pale blue bulbs gently swaying in the breeze. 

Éowyn set the lemonade aside before closing her eyes and dropped her head back to rest on the back of the chair. Maybe if the Maker was kind no one would disturb the fragile peace she had found, at least for the rest of the day. Because Maker knew she was tired and could use a break. She felt like she hadn’t had one since her mother had died. It had been one thing after another and being elevated to Champion of Kirkwall added even more responsibilities that she neither asked for nor wanted.

She was just starting to drift off when she heard the scrape of a foot against stone. It was so soft that she almost didn’t hear it.

“Orana, I’m fine, you don’t need to coddle me.”

“Why would you need coddling? Is something wrong?”

Éowyn’s eyes flew open at the sound of Sebastian’s voice. They hadn’t really spoken much since they had returned from the Deep Roads and she was conflicted about that. She knew something had happened between him and Anders, Anders’ freshly broken nose was evidence of that, but she’d kept out of it as she’d been more focused on their mission than whatever pissing contest they were having. It did surprise her that it had escalated to physical blows. They had always picked at each other, with Anders being the instigator more often than not, but this was different. The question now was if it was something that she needed to intervene in or just let it go.

“Nothing’s wrong Sebastian, I was just enjoying a quiet day without having to stab things and Orana’s been taking advantage of that by pushing food at me and nagging me to rest.”

“You have been pushing hard lately. Any rest you get is well deserved,” he said as he walked over to her and sat down on the edge of the recliner. He had forgone his white armor again in favor of dark brown breeches and a linen shirt that was open at the collar. The glimpse of his tanned skin there made her mouth go dry and she wondered what it would be like to nibble on it. She felt her skin grow hot at the thought. What was it about him that made her think such things?

He took up her free hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. It made her stomach flip every time he did that; the gesture was so outside her experience. Most of the time she was subjected to crude suggestions and leers. Those she could deal with, this tenderness though, this was new and made her feel just a bit awkward even as her heart rate increased.

“I’m glad that you have the opportunity to take some rest and are actually doing it. You do the work of three people. I don’t know how you do it,” he said as he lowered her hand but kept it clasped in his, his thumb brushing over her roughened skin.

“Stubbornness and spite mostly. A person can accomplish a lot when spite is a motivator.” She looked at him evenly. “I don’t like it when people tell me that I can’t do something that needs doing just because I’m a woman. Or Ferelden.”

He chuckled. “I’m thinking those people don’t know you very well,” he said, his mouth curving into a smile. He had a dimple in his cheek that drove her to distraction, so much that she almost missed what he said next. 

“I’ve brought you something.” 

Sebastian let go of her hand and fished a small package out of the pouch attached to his belt. Éowyn met his eyes as he handed it to her. She caught a flash of nerves in them as she took it from him, the rich velvet cloth soft under her fingers.

“You don’t need to give me gifts, Sebastian,” she said as she fiddled with the ribbon holding it together. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, unsure of how to proceed.

“I know, but I wanted you to have it.”

Éowyn pulled on the drawstring and tilted the bag and gasped as a round silver locket slid into the palm of her hand. It was delicate and old, decades old by her guess. A sickle moon set with tiny stones decorated the surface, a slightly larger stone set in the middle, shining like a star.

“It was my grandmother’s. I found it in the box of things you recovered from the Flint Company.”

“Your grandmother’s.” Her breath caught in her chest. “Sebastian I can’t take this. It belongs to your family.”

“My family is gone for what it’s worth and I’ll be damned before that idiot Goran gets his hands on it. Besides, it’s mine to do with as I wish and I wish for you to have it.”

“But-.”

Sebastian cupped her face with both hands, his blue eyes staring into her intently. “Now you listen to me, Éowyn Hawke. No, really listen. Despite what you think, you deserve good things. Happy things. My grandfather gave this to my grandmother not long after they met and she wore it until the day she died. I think that she would be happy knowing that such a strong woman like you were wearing it now.”

“But why would you give it to me?”

He gave her a tiny smile, brushing a stray lock of her blonde hair back from her face. “It’s tradition, or so I’ve been told, to give a gift to someone you’re courting.”

Éowyn swallowed heavily, her eyes flicking down to the locket and back to his. 

“Is that what we’re doing?”

His smile grew a little wider as he reached down and picked up the silver chain the locket hung from. He undid the clasp and drew the chain around her neck, his fingers grazing across her skin. Éowyn held her breath as he redid the clasp, letting the locket fall to her chest. 

“I’d like to think so,” he said, trailing a single finger down her jawline. He glanced down at the locket before looking back at her, a boyish look on his face. “It suits you.”

“Most people give flowers. Or chocolate.”

“I’m not most people _ mo chridhe _.”

“No, that you are not,” she said, smiling as she cocked her head to the side. “You keep calling me that. Are you going to tell me what it means?”

“Not just yet I think.”

“You know that I could find out myself. I have my ways and you’re not the only Starker here in Kirkwall.”

“You certainly could try. Not many know the old tongue though.”

His breath was warm against her skin as he leaned in close, his face mere inches from hers. Éowyn sat up and laid her hand against his face. This face of his had captured her attention from the first but it was his compassion and heart, and yes even his temper, that had pulled her in. She was deathly afraid of this all being some sort of trick, that she was caught in a demon’s thrall, that the other shoe would drop, but looking at him now she could believe that they could make it.

“Well, I do like a challenge,” she said softly before closing the gap and pressed her mouth against his. She kissed him softly and slowly, taking her time as she tasted him. Her fingers delved into his thick hair, savoring the feel of the thick strands against her skin. Blessed Andraste he seemed to be radiating heat and she couldn’t get enough of it.

She let out a whimper as he pulled her close and into his lap. Desire bloomed within her as she curled into him. Her head fell back as he kissed his way down her jaw, his teeth scraping against her skin just before he nipped her at her earlobe. Her whimper turned into a moan as she let herself feel everything that he evoked with his touch. 

He overwhelmed her with his touch, to the point where she had to pull back lest things went too far, before they went to a place where she wasn’t sure either of them were quite ready for yet. They were both breathing heavily as they parted. Her brain felt a bit clouded as she slowly opened her eyes. 

“So, I guess we’re courting then.”


	17. “There is something about her.”

Walking into the Kirkwall Chantry was still unnerving even after all the years she had lived here. She’d never gotten used to the near sterile feel to it. Granted her experience came from the smaller, more humble Chantries of Ferelden. Even the Chantry Cathedral in Denerim was modest compared to the Chantry here. She still remembered her shock when she’d first entered the building not long after they had arrived in Kirkwall. 

Tevinter influence was still seen throughout all of Kirkwall but it was most apparent with the Chantry. Giant imposing statues of Andraste and her disciples towered over the supplicants, a harsher depiction than she’d seen elsewhere. It was hard to ignore the giant sword that looked like it would cut you down if you breathed the wrong way in its presence. She honestly didn’t know how frequent parishioners could stand it. Granted most of them were Kirkwall natives and they were probably used to the grotesque statuary that filled not only the Chantry but all of Kirkwall, but even so, they were unsettling. One of the first things her mother had done when they had retaken the Amell estate was to remove at the Tevinter decorations, replacing them with things that were less nightmare inducing.

Éowyn slid into one of the back pews, hiding herself in the darkened corner. Between the dim candlelight and the incense it was hard to see anything from the nave where she sat. She wasn’t quite sure why she had come and as she didn’t want to be recognized, she kept her hood drawn up over her face. There were a handful a people in the nave, Chantry sisters standing in the alcoves, kneeling before smaller versions of the giant statue of Andraste that towered over them all.

The Grand Cleric stood in the sanctuary, conversing quietly with a couple of the revered mothers. Elthina was not her biggest fan, the quiet looks of disapproval had been there since day one, and over the last couple of years that disapproval had only grown. She wasn’t even subtle about it, saying more than once that Sebastian should focus more on his Chantry duties than galavanting off with her on one adventure or another. Éowyn was pretty sure that the Grand Cleric believed that she was responsible for Sebastian not recommitting to the Chantry and technically she wasn’t wrong but not once had Éowyn pushed Sebastian one way or another about retaking his vows or retaking Starkhaven. 

What would she say if she knew that she and Sebastian were courting? Sebastian hadn’t said anything about whether or not he’d told Elthina about their relationship and it gnawed on her stomach that she didn’t know. Yet again, however, she didn’t want to push the issue even though she knew she should. She didn’t do well sitting in limbo but at the same time she could understand the hesitation. Elthina had given him the support and acceptance that he hadn’t received from his parents and she could understand not wanting to risk losing that. 

Éowyn clasped her hands together, playing the part of a devout follower. While she believed in the Maker and Andraste, her issue was with the Chantry itself and how it dictated the Chant to the world. The Circles in theory were a good thing, she had no doubt of that, but how they were run needed to change. Keeping people locked up, imprisoning them just because of who they were was something that she would never agree with. Abuse and worse was rampant within the Circles with templars given free reign over how they enforced Chantry law. After everything she’d seen in Kirkwall, how Meredith encouraged the abuse, she thanked the Maker that Bethany had never ended up there.

“You won’t believe what I just heard,” said a whispered voice to her left. Éowyn turned her head slightly and saw two sisters huddling together in one of the alcoves.

“You shouldn’t gossip, Willamina.”

“Oh, like you’re one to talk, Elsa. You couldn’t wait to tell all and sundry about Brother Plinth and his bones,” said the taller sister. She looked around furtively before turning back to her companion. “It’s about Brother Sebastian.”

Éowyn had to force herself to remain still and maintain her guise as just another parishioner. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear whatever gossip was making the rounds at the Chantry even if it would give her a better idea of what was going on within its walls. Gossip was notorious for being wrong, or just wrong enough that it caused problems.

“You especially shouldn’t gossip about him. If the Grand Cleric heard you-.”

“Oh, pish. The Grand Cleric has more important things to do than ferret out gossip, even if it is about one of her favorites.” Éowyn detected a trace of bitterness in Sister Willamina’s voice and couldn’t help but be surprised by it. 

“I heard that he’s leaving the Chantry.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the other sister hissed. “If he was going to leave he would have done it years ago when he renounced his vows. You’ll notice that he’s still here.”

“Yes, but not as the Grand Cleric wants him. I overheard her talking to one of the mothers. She said that unless he became a cloistered brother she wouldn’t accept him back.”

Éowyn inhaled sharply through her nose, quickly covering it with a soft cough. She’d heard the same, straight from the woman’s mouth but she hadn’t thought that it was common knowledge.

“Why would she do that? Only the most devout become cloistered.”

“I heard it’s because of the Champion. Surely you’ve noticed how much time he spends with her. The Grand Cleric doesn’t like her.”

“That makes no sense. The Champion helped saved the city from those qunari. She’s the reason we’re not living under the Qun. She’s a hero.”

“Don’t be naive, Elsa. That so-called hero consorts with mages and the worst type of people. She’s also Ferelden and you know what those people are like.”

Even after all these years of being treated like less than nothing because of where she was born, Éowyn was still surprised by the disdain in the sister’s voice. She knew that Chantry members weren’t exempt from bigotry, some of the biggest bigots populated their ranks but it was still shocking to hear it stated flat out. The other sister to her credit didn’t take kindly to those remarks.

“The Maker loves all his children, Sister Willamina, regardless of who they are or where they were born,” she scolded. “The refugees deserve our mercy and compassion not your scorn.”

Éowyn could almost hear Willamina’s eyes roll. “You haven’t seen how those people live. They’re little better than the dogs they raise.”

“Sister!”

“Well, it’s true and I refuse to apologize for it,” she said haughtily. “Brother Sebastian was one of the most devout until that whore came along, tempting him with her wiles. There is something about her that’s just not right.”

“There’s something about _ you _ that’s just not right, Sister Willamina,” said Sister Elsa, her voice rising in irritation. “You cannot serve the Maker and his bride with such hate in your heart and I refuse to listen to this. You spent too much time with Sister Patrice and let her hate infect you. I recommend you go to confession and repent your sins. I won’t report you to the Grand Cleric this time but mark my words Sister, if I ever hear you speak that way about the Champion or _ any _ person ever again I will not hesitate. The Maker despises hypocrites and so do I.”

Éowyn’s heart was pounding as Sister Elsa walked away. Sister Willamina stood in the alcove, sputtering in disbelief before she stalked off in the other direction, muttering under her breath. She knew that there were people who disliked her but they usually showed it at the point of a blade and not venomous words. While it was heartening to know that there was at least one Chantry member that would defend her, she couldn’t help but wonder about all the others. The Grand Cleric’s opinion of her probably didn’t help matters any.

Her hands ached from her clenching them so hard. She loosened them, feeling the ache in her joints and a wetness in her palms. Looking down she saw tiny half-moons pressed into her skin, blood seeping from a few of them. She wanted to feel angry at the sister’s hateful words but all she felt was hurt. These people didn’t know her, not really. They filled their views of her with rumor and innuendo and she tried to remember that but it didn’t stop her heart from hurting, didn’t stop the tears filling her eyes.

Éowyn bowed her head and rested it on the back of the pew in front of her, taking deep, slow breaths. She wished that Sebastian were here to comfort her and at the same time she was glad that he wasn’t. He’d be angry, furious even, on her behalf and she had no doubt that he’d march straight up to the Grand Cleric and demand that something be done. It wouldn’t be the first time he let his emotions overrule his better judgement and she didn’t want any more attention brought to the situation than necessary.

She couldn’t tell any of her companions either. Both Varric and Isabela would find some way to make the sister’s life unbearable. Fenris would glower at the woman until she shit herself. Aveline would probably report the sister to the Grand Cleric while Merrill, though she’d be an excellent shoulder to cry on, wouldn’t be able to keep it to herself and all the others would know. And even if Bethany were to give her a sympathetic ear, unless she were to suddenly show up in Kirkwall she was out as well.

_ I could always write to her, _ she thought _ . Even if she didn’t read it, I’d be able to tell someone _.

That was an option. Maybe the best option. Even if Bethany did read it and respond, the likelihood of the others finding out was virtually nil. Éowyn took a deep breath and sat up, absently wiping away the tears that had fallen down her cheeks.

_ This is what I get for eavesdropping _, she thought ruefully and walked out of the Chantry.


	18. “Secrets? I love secrets.”

“Isabela, are you going to tell me what’s going on? I’m in no mood for games.” 

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Isabela said as she delicately stepped over the body of one of the bandits that had made the poor gamble of attacking them and thinking they would win. She nudged the leg of another body, checking to make sure that he was indeed dead. “This lot certainly took the brunt of your mood.”

Éowyn scowled at her friend as she wiped the blood from her blades before sheathing them. What was supposed to be a quick errand according to Isabela was turning into more of an ordeal than it was worth. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and tried to stamp down on her irritation. Isabela had somehow sussed out that her mood and was bound and determined to do something about it. At least she wasn’t nagging on her about what had put her in a bad mood; she was pretty certain that if her friend did find out about Sister Willamina that the sister might end up on a ship bound for nowhere good. 

“I’m serious. I have things to do and don’t have time for this. What’s with all the secrecy?”

“Secrets? Me? I’m offended Hawke, I really am.”

“Oh bullshit, Isabela.”

“Ugh. Fine, yes. I love secrets. You never know how knowing something about someone can turn to your advantage but this isn’t that type of secret. Now come on. We’re going to be late.”

“Late for _ what? _”

“It’s not far. Just around the corner here.”

Éowyn contemplated stabbing Isabela just then. Just a little. She’d only regret it a little. Okay, more than a little but it would make her feel better.

Instead of stabbing her friend she followed her down the narrow street. Despite living in Kirkwall for almost seven years and traipsing all over it on one job or another, she didn’t recognize this area. It was relatively clean for Lowtown, or more accurately the border between Lowtown and Hightown where the lines blurred. Small shops lined the narrow street, their doors open to let in the weak breeze that stirred the air.

“Ah! Yes, here we are.” Isabela turned and gave Éowyn a once over. “I suppose you’ll do.”

“Do for what? Isabela, I swear by Andraste-.”

Before she could finish her sentence Isabela opened the door and pulled her in. Éowyn stood in the well lit room, her mouth gaping as all her friends stood up from their chairs, drinks in hand.

“Happy nameday!” they all called out. They were all there, all of them smiling. She had a moment where she wondered if this was all some sort of dream.

“How did you know? I never told anyone when my nameday was,” she asked, turning to Isabela. It had never been important in her mind, just another day of the year, one that she rarely celebrated. 

“I told her.”

Éowyn whipped her head around to see Bethany emerge from behind Sebastian. Her eyes darted between both of them and she was near paralysed. Was this real? Was she dreaming? Her breath caught in her throat as Bethany came forward and wrapped her arms around her, hugging her tight.

“I got your letter, sister,” she whispered in Éowyn’s ear. “Want me to go beat up that Chantry sister? Or freeze her smallclothes? Because I totally will.”

Éowyn squeezed her eyes shut and hugged Bethany tighter. She hadn’t thought that Bethany would read her letter much less come to her defense. Did this mean she forgave her?

Bethany pulled back, tears shining in her eyes. “We’re still sisters you and I. I spent a long time being mad at you, too long. I don’t know if it helps, but anyone who messes with you will have to answer to me, Chantry sister or no.”

Éowyn let out a watery laugh. “I’m so glad you’re here, and yes, it helps.”

“Are you two done hugging and crying? There’s cake to be had,” Varric called out.

“There’s cake?”

“Wouldn’t be your nameday without it,” Bethany said, a smile lighting up her face. She then leaned in close and whispered, “and later after all these idiots leave you’re going to tell me what’s going on between you and Sebastian.”

Éowyn gulped, her gaze flicking over to Sebastian. He gave her a smile, the one that she felt was reserved especially for her.

“A sister knows,” Bethany said, as if reading her mind. “We’ll have a nice long chat later, but first cake.”


	19. “Yes, I admit it, you were right.”

Éowyn and Bethany stumbled into the Amell manor well after the sun had sunk below the horizon. Her nameday celebration had started with cake and then Fenris had produced a couple bottles of wine he’d brought and shortly after that Isabela produced a bottle of Antivan brandy and now her head was spinning. It had been a long time since she had drank this much.

“Are you sure that you two will be okay? You’re a little more than wobbly,” said Sebastian. Both he and Fenris had insisted on escorting them back to the estate and as it was on the way, Éowyn saw no reason to refuse. Besides, as her drunk brain told her, it was an excuse to touch him that no one could construe as inappropriate. 

“I’m the perfect amount of wobbly, Sebastian. We both are,” she said as she leaned into him. Maker, he smelled good. All clean and shiny with a whiff of spice that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She looked up at him through half-closed eyes. He had a day’s worth of stubble on his face and she found herself wanting to nuzzle it. 

“Wobbly’s a word for it. The world’s a bit spinny. But it’s okay as we have you two to lean on,” Bethany giggled.

Éowyn snorted, a giggle of her own quickly following. “Sebastian, I think my sister’s drunk.”

“You both are, Hawke. You’re lucky that for once you didn’t get ambushed by one of the gangs.”

“Don’t be such a boor, Fenris. ‘Sides, Isabela and I took care of them before the party.”

“That would explain the blood splatter then,” Sebastian sighed, hooking his arm arm her waist a little tighter as he escorted her upstairs to her room. He set her on her bed before kneeling at her feet, working on the laces of her boots. Éowyn laid a hand on his shoulder to steady herself when the room took a spin. His skin felt so warm and soft and she found herself wanting to snuggle up to him and fall asleep in his arms. She closed her eyes and hummed dreamily, letting him divest her of her armor. 

“You’re so pretty.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said you’re pretty.” Éowyn opened her eyes, smiling at him. “And kind and strong. Just a little bit arrogant at times and Maker, that temper of yours. I remember the first time I saw you. You shot and arrow at the Grand Cleric. Well, not at _ her _ precisely but pretty fucking close.”

“You saw that?”

“Oh yes, I saw, saw all of it. Do you know that I had a crush on you? I think that’s where it started. I saw you and my heart did this little stumble,” she said, swaying just a bit, not noticing how his hands had stilled. “And then later I learned that you were a Chantry brother, so I kept it to myself. It was my little secret. Kept it secret from everyone cause I knew that nothing could come of it. You had taken your vows, and were a prince, and I was just a little nobody refugee from Ferelden. So I settled for just being your friend and knew that I had to be happy with that.

“And then you kissed me that day in the rain. Thought I was dreaming. I was sure I was.” Éowyn raised up her hand, tracing his lips with her fingers, marvelling that this was a thing she could do. “I was already a little bit in love with you before then, I’m even more so now.”

“Éowyn, I think you should try to get some sleep. We’ll talk about this when you’re sober.”

“You’re bossy too. Not such a big fan of that,” she said, even as she let him tuck her in. “But I still like you.”

“I like you too, Éowyn,” he said, leaning down and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Get some rest.”

* * *

Éowyn wanted to die. Her head felt like someone had set off a gatlock bomb in it. The dim light that filtered through her curtains pierced through her skull. She turned her face into her pillow and wished that she could remove her head from her body.

She drifted for a little bit, not sure how long before she heard her door creaking open and the glorious smell of coffee drifting through. 

“Good morning, I’ve brought coffee.”

Éowyn cracked open an eye to see her sister walk in, looking fresh as the proverbial daisy. She groaned and shut her eyes again.

“How are you not horizontal? Is this a Warden thing?”

“One of the few benefits,” Bethany said brightly, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Warden stamina. Works more for just recovering from a night of drinking. Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I’m not listening to this. I refuse.”

“What? Don’t like knowing that little sister’s all grown up? Awww, that’s sweet.”

“I hate you.”

“Even though I brought you coffee? I’m hurt.”

“Shut up and give me the mug,” Éowyn said as she slowly shoved herself into a seated position. As she lifted it to her mouth, inhaling the rich aroma before taking a long, slow sip. She rested her head against the headboard, grateful that the pounding in her head had lessened.

“So… you and Sebastian. Thoughts?”

“Bethany,” Éowyn said, not opening her eyes. “You may have brought me coffee but that doesn’t mean that I’m talking yet.”

“Well, I’ll do the talking then. I didn’t really see it before but last night, but seeing the two of you together? Well, I feel a bit foolish.

“I heard you last night, you know. When he was helping you to bed. Ah, both Fenris and I did. It was actually pretty touching. I’ve never heard you be that open with anyone. Not even me.”

“Bethany-.”

“No, it’s okay, really. We haven’t exactly been on close talking terms. And I have to say something here. Yes, I admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“You were right. About bringing me to the Wardens. I would have died from the taint. This life,” she paused, taking a deep breath. “It’s not one I would have chosen. It’s hard and it’s bloody and it is ugly. Even without a Blight. The people, my fellow Wardens? They’re a rowdy bunch to be sure but I’ve found a sort of home with them. They accept mages, more than most people. But-.”

“But what?”

Bethany smiled, placing a hand on hers. “They’re not family.”


	20. “You could talk about it, you know?”

Time was never on her side. Just when she thought that maybe, just maybe Kirkwall would give her a break it decided to turn her life inside out. She’d had a bad feeling when she had received the summons from the Grand Cleric, had known in her gut that she would not like what was coming next. And she’d been right. The Grand Cleric had asked her to meet with an agent of the Divine, this Sister Nightingale, and lie to her about the situation in Kirkwall. Tell her that things were under control. And fool that she was, she had agreed.

And so she was in a foul mood as she, Aveline, Anders, and Sebastian made their way to the Keep. It wasn’t helping matters any that she hadn’t had a chance to talk with Sebastian after her nameday celebration, after she had told him that she loved him. One thing or another had prevented that follow up talk. Either he had been caught up in dealings with the Chantry or with the situation in Starkhaven or she had been called on to solve one problem or another. It also didn’t help matters any that she was mortally embarrassed that she had confessed her love for him while she was piss drunk. Of all the ways she had imagined telling him that hadn’t even been on the list. Maker, she was never going to drink again.

“Is everything alright?”

She spared him a glance as she continued walking toward the Keep. Now he wanted to talk?

“I’m fine. Let’s just get this done.”

“You don’t seem fine. You could talk about it, you know? Whatever’s bothering you.”

Éowyn faltered in her step for second before stiffening her spine. “Now’s not the time, Sebastian. Maybe later.”

“This is a fool’s errand,” said Anders from behind them. “The Divine will do whatever she pleases no matter what we tell her agent. And who’s going to suffer from all this? The lowest of the low. This is nothing but an attempt to cover up all the ills in Kirkwall.”

“I don’t necessarily disagree with you, Anders, but I made a promise and I keep my promises.”

Yes, she’d agreed to Elthina’s request to talk with the Divine’s agent but she couldn’t in good conscience tell this agent that the situation in Kirkwall was under control when anyone with eyes could see that it wasn’t. It had been on the tip of her tongue to ask the Grand Cleric when was the last time she had been out amongst her flock. Not just within the Chantry, but out on the streets. The older woman had accused Sebastian on several occasions of waffling between his duties but from Éowyn’s position, Elthina wasn’t in a position to throw stones. For years she had sat on the sidelines and watched as the situation between the templars and mages worsened, for years she did nothing to curb Meredith’s tyrannical rule. It was well within her capabilities to broker a peace between the two factions but she had stayed on the sidelines and said that it was in the Maker’s hands as to how the situation would resolve.

Any thoughts of lying or downplaying the situation went out the window when they were attacked by mages on their way through the Keep. It was fiercely fought and Éowyn could see the desperation and anger in the mages’ eyes even as she cut them down. Her heart tore with every strike. There had to be a better way than bloodshed.

“It would seem that things are worse than the Divine thought,” said a woman who could only be Sister Nightingale. The woman sheathed her daggers, her eyes taking in the carnage that filled the hall.

“Tensions in Kirkwall have been rising for some time now, Sister Nightingale, and if they continue to go the way they are I don’t see them getting any better. The Grand Cleric,” Éowyn paused, shifting a glance toward Sebastian. She knew he wasn’t going to like what she said next but it had to be said. “The Grand Cleric has been slow to respond. Knight-Commander Meredith all but runs the city now, blocking any attempts to elect a new viscount.”

“I see. That is troubling. I had heard rumors of course and from what I’ve seen of the city I cannot disagree with that assessment.” Sister Nightingale sighed. “I have no choice then but to tell the Divine what is going on. You must warn the Grand Cleric, get her to leave the city. War is coming.”

Éowyn snorted. “I doubt that will do any good but we’ll warn her.”

* * *

“I will not leave my flock. If there is to be war then it is all the more important for me to stay.”

Éowyn tried not to roll her eyes. She knew that this would be Elthina’s response. The woman, despite her holy vocation, was too arrogant to leave, too certain of what she represented.

“Your Grace, I beg you. You must leave. You are in grave danger,” Sebastian pleaded. Éowyn heard the edge of desperation in his voice and it cut at her. Elthina had been like a mother to him since he came to the Chantry and for him the thought of her being in danger was unbearable.

“I am Grand Cleric, Sebastian. Who would dare harm me?”

“You’d be surprised your Grace,” Éowyn said, the words out of her mouth before she could stop them. “The people of Kirkwall are angry and scared. Angry and scared people do desperate things. Trust me, I know. If you value your life you best leave the city.”

“I know you mean well, Champion, but I will not leave.”

“If you will not take steps to protect yourself, then I will be your shield. I swear by the Maker’s name you will come through this safely.”

Éowyn’s heart sunk at his words. With that handful of words she knew that Sebastian had made his choice and that it hadn’t been her. She forced her face to remain stoic, to not show any response even as she heard that other shoe drop. It was to be expected, she thought. When had anything in her life gone right? When had she ever been chosen first among others?

“Well, I guess that settles that,” she said brightly, pulling a mask down over her despair. “I don’t know what the Divine has in store but you had best prepare yourself. I wouldn’t be surprised if an Exalted March was in our near future.”

Without another word, she turned on her heel and marched out of the Chantry, her hands balled into fists, leaving her companions behind. She wasn’t going to cry. She couldn’t. There was too much to do.


	21. “Change can be annoyingly difficult.”

Éowyn sat on the floor in front of the fireplace going through her weapons and armor, sharpening those that needed it, tossing those that weren’t worth fixing. With the incident at the Keep and the aftermath at the Chantry she had the sinking feeling that things in Kirkwall were only going to get worse, and get worse quickly. Even on the walk back from the Chantry she could see signs of strain among the people she passed. Guards and templars alike kept a close hand on their swords, eyes darting back and forth looking for any signs of disturbance. If things were this bad in Hightown she didn’t want to think about what Lowtown and Darktown were like. It was a good bet that the short answer was not good.

There was nothing that she could do about that now. She had made every effort she could think of, tried to bring people together to come to some sort of consensus but she was just one person and could only do so much. So she helped where she could; often feeling like she was an ant trying to push against an ocean tide.

“Is something amiss, messere?”

Éowyn glanced over at Bodahn. The dwarf was standing in the entryway wringing his hands together, an uncharacteristic nervous look on his face. Sandal was nowhere to be seen. Ever since he had gone into that trance he’d been withdrawn, keeping more to his room than normal. She knew that Bodahn was worried about the boy; she was as well even though what he had said unnerved her beyond belief. A world where all the magic is back and everyone will be as they were? Éowyn wasn’t sure what to think of it and when she had pressed him, the young dwarf had just responded with his typical response of ‘enchantment!’ 

“Nothing more than usual, Bodahn.” When he didn’t move, she set down her dagger and gave him her full attention. “Is something wrong?”

“I hate to do this to you but my boy and I will be leaving for Orlais in the coming weeks. The Empress somehow heard of his talents and asked for him specifically,” he paused, pride mixed with regret crossing his face. “I’m sorry to do this, truly, but it’s an amazing opportunity for my boy.”

Éowyn sighed. She wasn’t surprised really. News of Sandal’s talent had spread far and wide in recent years and it was only a matter of time before someone in power snatched him up. And of course it had to be Orlais.

“It’s okay Bodahn. You have to do what’s best for him. I totally understand that. I would do the same if I were in your place.”  _ Maybe not to Oralis, _ she thought before taking a deep breath. “When do you leave?”

“Not for a bit yet. Lots of things to get in order, papers to sign and whatnot. The Merchants Guild’s none too happy about us leaving.”

Éowyn gave him a rueful smile. “No, I would suppose not. Change can be annoyingly difficult.”

“Indeed. If you don’t mind then, I think I’ll turn in for the night. That is, if you don’t need anything.”

“I’ll be fine, Bodahn. Go get some rest.”

Éowyn turned back to her weapon array and wondered if it was going to be enough. She was running low on smoke bombs and health poultices. They were easy enough to make; the process could be time consuming though. Time she wasn’t sure she had. 

She ran her hand through her hair. She’d taken it down from its normal braid and left it loose with only a ribbon to hold it out of her face. Her head and shoulders ached from hunching over her weapons and armor, the fumes from the oil permeating her skin and she fantasized about taking a long bath with some of the salts that Isabela had given her but in looking at the amount of work she had before her it was going to be awhile before she could make that fantasy a reality.

Time passed, the only indicator being the dying flames in the fireplace. The weather didn’t necessarily call for a fire but there was a chill within her that clung to her bones. The chill matched the aching in her heart. When she caught herself drifting, Éowyn set down her knives before she stabbed herself. She pulled up her knees to her chest and rested her head on them. Now that she knew she was alone and the house was quiet she could let the tears come. Deep, aching sobs wrenched through her as she mourned what she had lost, what she had almost had. Maker but she was tired of losing.

A loud knocking broke through her melancholy, startling her. Éowyn wiped her eyes clear and contemplated ignoring the caller. It was well past midnight after all, she would be well within her rights to ignore whoever it was, but duty and the desire to not have the entire household woken up spurred her to her feet. She scrubbed her face as walked toward the door, hoping that whoever it was had the wrong door. 

Any hopes of being able to shoo off the caller were dashed when she opened the door and found Sebastian on her doorstep. She almost closed it back again on him but there was a look in his eye that said that wouldn’t go over well.

“It’s late, Sebastian. What do you want?” she asked, suddenly feeling incredibly weary. Crawling into bed and sleeping for a month suddenly had great appeal.

“Well, for starters to not have this conversation on your doorstep.”

“What conversation? It’s late and I’m tired.”

“One that needs to be had. Are you going to let me in?”

Éowyn hesitated, seriously considering again to shut the door in his face but again decided against it. Sighing, she opened the door further and let him in, a cold blast of wind following him. Shivering, she pulled her robe tighter around her. Maker, let this be quick, she prayed.

“Well?”

“You left the Chantry in quite a hurry.”

Éowyn pursed her lips. “What more was there to say? We delivered the message to Elthina, she ignored the advice, and you volunteered yourself to be her shield. I think that pretty much sums everything up. Job done, messaged delivered, time to move on.”

“You cannot possibly think that’s all of it.”

“Oh, but I can. What more is there?” 

“Quite a lot judging by your face. You think that I can’t tell you’ve been crying?”

Éowyn clenched her jaw and just stared at him as she wrapped her arms tighter around herself. “What do you want?”

“For one, to know why you’ve been crying. Did something happen?”

The snort came out unbidden. Did something happen. She’d poured her heart out to him, albeit drunkenly, but it had still happened, and now a week later she was wishing that she could erase what she had told him, to unspeak those words and put them back in her heart. What claim did she have on him really? A few kisses and talks of courting had gone to her head, making her think her deepest wish could actually come true. Reality came crashing down this evening though when Sebastian had made his declaration, had finally chosen a side.

Maybe she should have fought harder, discussed his options with him more. It wasn’t like they hadn’t had the opportunity. She’d given him her thoughts but hadn’t pushed him strongly one way or the other. Looking back maybe that had been a misstep on her part but she’d been so adamant that he be the one to make his own decision regarding his path. Well, he’d made a choice, just not the one her heart wanted.

“You’re upset.” He made to take up her hand but she stepped back out of his reach. She saw the confusion on his face and a part of her wanted to slap him for it. The rational side of her brain told her that his confusion was reasonable but the irrational side wanted to scream. She knew he wasn’t a mind reader but how could he not know, not understand how his words back at the Chantry had affected her, how they had changed everything.

“You should go. I’m sure the Grand Cleric is missing her shield.” It was petty and low saying that but the words were out before she could stop them. 

He had started to reach for her again but his hand stopped in midair, his brows furrowing together. She saw the exact moment everything started to click.

“Is that what this is about? My wanting to protect the Grand Cleric? She has templars to do that, as she reminded me very sharply after you left. Had you stayed you would have known that.”

“I’m surprised that she didn’t jump at the chance to get her golden boy back into the flock and behind cloistered walls,” she said bitterly, keeping the distance between them. “She and I don’t agree on much, but she’s not far off when she said that you get blown about like a weather vane in a hurricane.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” His voice had taken on a sharper edge and the confusion on his face was slowly turning to anger.

“It means that the people who conspired to murder your family have been caught and dealt with, they received their justice over three years ago and you’ve yet to make a decision about what you want to do. Become the cloistered brother or the prince.

“A person cannot serve two masters and expect to eat fully, Sebastian. You had a choice to make and tonight you made it.” Her heart was slamming against her chest and she could feel the burn on tears behind her eyes. Dammit, no, she would not cry. 

“And you somehow think that choice excludes you,” he said slowly.

“Doesn’t it? I can’t join you in the Chantry, Sebastian. I’m not made for that life. I believe in the Maker, believe in Andraste, but the Chantry is not them.”

“I would never-.”

“Never ask for a chaste marriage or whatever other bullshit Elthina has shoved up her sleeve? I may be an innocent in some ways Sebastian, but I’m no simpleton.” Éowyn took a deep breath and attempted to calm herself. “Like I said, you made your choice and it doesn’t include me. You should go.”

“No.”

The anger that had started to seep away came boiling back. “I want to remain friends, so for both our sakes you need to leave. Now.”

“Oh, Éowyn, we are so much more than friends and you very well know that.” He walked toward her and she shuffled to the side and kept moving until her back came up against the wall. “You said you loved me, you might not remember it but I do and that’s not a thing you get to take back.”

He took another step closer, merely a foot away now, and her mind spun with ways she could escape from this dance. She wasn’t without skills but his words left her paralyzed. 

“I made a mistake that night. In leaving you. I should have stayed, waited until I knew you were clear enough to know what you were saying and that you remembered it.”

“I remember everything I said,” she whispered. “It didn’t seem to matter in the end.”

“Didn’t seem to matter?” Sebastian closed his eyes as if praying for patience. When he opened them again, they locked on her, his irises burning bright. He reached out and touched the locket that hung around her neck. “It matters. It means everything. Éowyn, there was a time when I gave my affections freely and carelessly. I was reckless with those affections in my youth and caused people harm. When I entered the Chantry I took vows to stop that, to remain faithful and not faithless. 

“When you blew into my life, I questioned those vows. I questioned myself. I prayed, a lot, for guidance. Every path I took led me right back to you. And then there was that day in the rain. You were glorious, fierce. Irresistible. That’s when I knew for sure that I loved you.”

Éowyn’s breath shuddered in her chest. Why now? Why was he saying this now?

His fingers traced the edge of the locket, his skin barely touching hers. “When I gave you this, it was a promise. A promise of a life together. I should have been more plain in my declarations for I can see that by not saying it sooner, I’ve hurt you. That by not making my intentions clear, I made you feel left behind, and for that I am so very sorry.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I intend to marry you Éowyn Hawke. If you’ll have me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before y'all yell at me I think we all know what her answer is. :)
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's been reading. You're the best!


	22. “We could have a chance.”

Éowyn released a long, slow breath. Was this really happening? She was tempted to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming, because she _ had _ dreamt this before. Maybe not this exact situation but variations of it. 

“If I’ll have you?”

“Yes. I think my life, with all it’s ups and downs, has led me to this moment. I wasn’t expecting this, but it’s real and I know, without question or doubt, that with every heartbeat I choose you and I’ll keep choosing you from now until the day I stand by the Maker’s side.”

Tears spilled over, but they were no longer tears of sorrow. She reached for his face with both hands and brought his lips to hers for a soft, lingering kiss. When their kiss broke, he pulled her into his arms and held her close, his face nuzzling her neck. She heard and felt him release a shaky breath.

“Does that mean you’ll have me, _ mo chridhe _?”

Her lips turned upward as she pulled back, tracing her fingers down his cheek. “Only if you’ll finally tell me what that means.”

He took her hand and held it to his chest. She could feel the fast and steady thump of his heart beneath her fingers. He laid his other hand on her chest, just above her own heart.

“It means ‘my heart’, for you certainly have mine and I yours.”

“You certainly have a way with words there, Sebastian Vael,” she said, her stomach fluttering. “Do you think… do you think we could have a chance? I mean really have a chance to make it?”

“I have no doubts. As long as we’re together, we can get through anything.”

“Well, alright then. Yes, I’ll have you.”

Sebastian crushed her against him, enveloping her fully. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Peace settled over her, a peace unlike any she’d ever known. It was dangerous she knew, to base your happiness on another person but it didn’t change the fact that this, that he made her happy. 

“I’ll have you know, however, that I’m not one for long engagements. Life is too short and we’ve wasted enough time as it is.”

He pressed a kiss to the tender skin of the underside of her jaw, working his way up to her mouth. One hand smoothed up her back to tangle with her hair as the other lingered briefly at the small of her back before cupping her bottom. That flutter in her stomach shot straight to her core.

“I agree,” he said, placing a kiss on the corner of her mouth before pulling back slightly. “If I thought that I could get away with it, I’d wake the Grand Cleric right now to perform the ceremony. Waiting until morning will have to do.”

“Our friends might have some objections to being left out,” she said inbetween kisses. “Don’t we need witnesses or something?”

He leaned back, cupping her face with his hands, his fingers caressing the shell of her ears. “We can send word round in the morning. Shouldn’t be too hard to round them up.”

Éowyn blinked. “Wait, you’re serious. You want this straight away. No long engagement, no big announcements, no fancy event where the food is so small you can barely see it?”

“As you said, we’ve spent more than enough time waiting and life is too short. I’d rather spend it with you than adhere to some arbitrary timeline.”

“Wow. When you finally make up your mind, you really do it.” She took a deep breath, her brows pinching together. “You know, the Grand Cleric, Elthina, she’s not exactly my biggest fan. She’s not going to be happy about this. She never liked it when I pulled you away from the Chantry.”

“I have great respect for her but this is between you and me, and as much as it pains me, if she won’t consent to marrying us, we’ll find someone who will. And for the record, you never pulled me away from the Chantry. I went with you of my own free will.”

“You continue to surprise me. Not a handful of hours ago you pledged yourself to be her shield and now you’re saying that you would defy her wishes and marry me?”

A pained look came across his face, a shadow of doubt followed by sadness. “If it comes to that, yes. I hope that it doesn’t, but yes.”

“And your vows? What about them?”

He gave her a smile that could almost be called devilish and it made her body tingle with an anticipation that surprised her. “I never reaffirmed myself after I broke with the Chantry to find my family’s murderers. I will always be faithful to the Maker and his bride, but I plan to make new vows. With you. Like I said, I’ll be at your side until the end.”

A wide smile broke out across her face at his words. “Well, let’s get married then.”

* * *

“I’m sorry, say that again because I think I blacked out. For a moment there I thought you said you and Choir Boy are getting married.”

“You heard me just fine, Isabela. I thought you’d be happy for me.”

“Maker knows that you deserve to be happy, Hawke, but a chaste marriage? Is that really going to make you happy? I thought you wanted kids someday.”

“I do,” she said quietly. “But with the way the world is right now, would you want to willingly bring a child into it?”

“Can’t say that I’ve ever given it much thought. But seriously Hawke, a chaste marriage?”

Éowyn blushed. Though they hadn’t explicitly talked about it, given how he seemed to be unable to keep his hands to himself when she was near would point in the opposite direction of a chaste marriage. It was impossible to deny the attraction between them, the physical pull in her womb whenever he turned those blue eyes of his full on her. 

Isabela tilted her head to the side, giving her an appraising look. “Unless you’ve already done the deed. Hmmm, no. You don’t have that glow about you.”

“What glow?”

“The one that says you have been well and truly fucked. In the best way.”

“You have an unhealthy interest in my sex life,” she muttered before clearing her throat. “Are you coming or not?”

“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” She gave her an appraising look. “But that’s not what you’re wearing are you? Even if it is a quickie wedding doesn’t mean you should get married in your armor.”

Éowyn rolled her eyes. “I’m sure I have a dress stashed somewhere that will meet your standards.”

“I certainly hope so. You are marrying a prince afterall. You’re going to have to look the part.”

* * *

“Sebastian, you cannot be serious.” The Grand Cleric actually looked shocked when he told her of his plans to marry Éowyn. She had warned him that this would be Elthina’s reaction but he hadn’t fully believed it, hadn’t wanted to.

“I am most serious, your Grace. I intend to marry Éowyn and I had hoped for your blessing.”

Elithina pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. “This is rash, even for you. I should have let you retake your vows when you asked me all those years ago. You belong in the Chantry.”

“I will always be a part of the Chantry, your Grace, just not as a brother. I intend to take back the Starkhaven throne, with Éowyn at my side. The people of Starkhaven need a strong leader, not that milksop cousin of mine.”

“Do you honestly think that they will accept her? A Ferelden whose past is questionable at best? She spurned her Amell heritage, embracing her father’s lawlessness; she defied Chantry law by hiding her mage sister from the templars. I tried to keep you out of that life, to keep you on the path you belong to and now I see that I have failed.”

Sebastian stiffened. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Since when had Elthina cared about such things? He’d thought her as holy and wise, not someone who cared about one’s position in life. “It is not blood that makes one noble, your Grace, it is one’s actions. She has done much for this city and its people, it’s one of the many reasons why I love her. And this is no a rash decision on either of our parts, but something that has blossomed over the years we’ve known each other, you must believe me in that.”

The women he thought of as his mentor and second mother sighed as she walked over to the large window that overlooked the Chantry gardens. “I can see that there’s no dissuading you from this path. If you are absolutely certain, then I will allow her to become a sister of the faith and you may have a chaste marriage.”

“With all due respect, your Grace, no. Éowyn would not be happy living like that and I would not force her to make such a decision. Neither of us want to be hidden behind walls. We do our best work out among the people. Neither of us can help this city if we are cloistered within these walls.”

Elthina kept her back to him but he could see the anger in her posture. “Then I’m afraid I cannot and will not give you my blessing. That is all.”

Sebastian knew a dismissal when he heard one. He gave a stiff bow to her back and marched out of the room, his hands clenched into fists. How was he going to break this to Éowyn? Elthina’s refusal effectively blocked them from getting married in Kirkwall, they would have to leave the city and he feared that would prove to be impossible with the state that it was in. There had to be a way. There just had to be.

He was halfway through the Chantry when he heard his name being called. In no mood to deal with whatever they wanted, he almost kept walking but his conscience tugged at him. He turned around to find one of the sisters approaching him quickly, her eyes darting around her. She looked vaguely familiar to him but he couldn’t quite place her.

“Serrah Vael, please forgive me but I couldn’t help but overhear your, ah, _ discussion _, with the Grand Cleric.”

Sebastian sighed. He had hoped to keep the encounter quiet but the Chantry walls had a way of hearing everything.

“I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping, I’m sorry, and Maker forgive me, what the Grand Cleric decided was wrong. I’d like to help.”

“Help how, Sister?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Sister Elsa. I want you to know that not everyone here in the Chantry shares her Grace’s opinion of the Champion; many consider her a hero, myself included. It will probably cost me my advancement to Revered Mother but I don’t care, the Grand Cleric was wrong to deny you your request,” the sister said quietly, her fingers clenched before her, the only outward sign of nerves. “I wouldn’t be able to do it in the Chantry, but I am willing to perform the service. If you want.”

Sebastian paused for a moment, sizing the sister up. She seemed sincere enough in her willingness to help but the question of why remained.

Sister Elsa looked down at her hands when he asked. “Serrah Hawke helped me when no one else would. I was unable to repay her kindness at the time but I can repay her by doing this. If you’ll let me.”


	23. “You can’t give more than yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahoy! This chapter is mostly smut, with feelings, so fair warning.

They had done it. They had really done it. Éowyn stood in front of the fireplace, running her thumb over the plain gold ring Sebastian had given her as they took their vows. She had no idea when he had the time to find a ring; the day had been such a whirlwind that she was having some trouble remembering what had happened. As expected, Elthina had refused to give her blessing. What she hadn’t expected was one of the Chantry sisters stepping up and agreeing to perform the ceremony in defiance of the Grand Cleric’s wishes. She hadn’t known what to say when Sebastian showed up on the doorstep with the young sister in tow.

All of their friends had come, even Anders, to which she was still surprised at. Even more, they had gotten through the day with only a few snide remarks. Éowyn suspected that Isabela had threatened to poke holes in certain sensitive areas if they didn’t behave. 

They had held it in the garden. Once Merrill had been told there was no stopping her from decorating the entire garden and half the house. She’d also made up a small bouquet of tiny white flowers that she called stardrops. While touched, Éowyn wasn’t sure why she’d gone to all that trouble; with no long, drawn-out Chantry service attached to the wedding, the ceremony had taken maybe ten minutes.

But it was ten minutes that she would remember and cherish forever.

_ I choose you, and I will continue to choose you until the end of my days. _

That had been his vow. Did he know just how much those words meant to her?

“You look lovely. Have I told you that yet?”

Éowyn turned to see Sebastian leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely over his chest. The late afternoon sun picked out the golden strands in his russet hair and made his tanned skin glow. Maker, but he was gorgeous and the way he looked at her made her stomach do summersaults. 

“A couple of times,” she said, giving him a small smile. She clutched her hands together, hoping that her nerves weren’t showing. “The house is so quiet now with everyone gone.”

“Yes, our friends are quite the rowdy bunch. Aveline managed to run herd on them and get them out.”

“If anyone can herd that group of cats it’s her,” she chuckled. 

“You do a fair job of it.”

Éowyn raised an eyebrow, faintly amused. “I do try. Some days are easier than others. I look forward to the day where I don’t have to. One would think that a group of adults would be better behaved.”

“You do manage to attract an interesting crowd. No one else could keep such a rabble together.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “I sincerely doubt that. It’s more like who would want to,” she said as she made her way over to him. She reached out for his hand, running her thumb over the matching gold band on his finger. “These were a nice touch. I hadn’t expected that.”

“I wanted us to have a token to remember today by and since I don’t have access to the Vael family jewels these were the best I could do.” 

“Sebastian, I don’t need fancy jewels and baubles.” She reached to her chest where his grandmother’s locket lay. “You’ve already given me something precious. And this ring, these rings? They’re all that I need.”

Sebastian reached out and brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. “I would have preferred to give you nothing less than a prince.”

Éowyn smiled and shook her head. “Sebastian, I don’t need a prince. I just need you.”

He let out a shaky breath. “You humble me.”

“Not at all. It’s just a simple truth. You can’t give more than yourself, Sebastian. I like you just as you are. The rest is just icing.”

She reached up and brought his lips down to hers. His lips were warm and tasted faintly of the wine they had with their dinner. Warmth spread through her as his arms came around her and pulled her in close. She felt his heart speed up as she nipped as his lower lip and ran her tongue over it. It seemed to flip some sort of switch in him as he let out a small growl and snaked his hand up into her hair. He spun them around so that her back was up against the wall and he pressed into her, leaving no room between them. She let out a gasp of surprise as he tugged on her hair to expose her neck to his lips. He placed hot, open-mouthed kisses down her jawline and the column of her neck, her body trembling with each kiss. 

Each kiss, each touch elicited new sensations that she had never experienced before. Nothing she had read had prepared her for this. Her knees felt weak as he worked his way back up her neck, nipping at her earlobe before he reclaimed her mouth. His hands slowly roamed her body, caressing her spine, gripping her hips, sliding up her waist. She arched into his hand when he cupped her breast, a small cry escaping past her lips when he brushed his thumb over the nipple. Her body felt like a furnace as she clung to him, her hands fisting the fabric of his shirt between her fingers. 

When he slid his leg between hers and rubbed up against the apex of her thighs her entire body stiffened. She could feel him hard and hot against her and it was almost too much; she had to push him back a bit, needed to regain her balance and her breath.

“I’m sorry. If you’re not ready, we don’t need to do this. I don’t want to pressure you,” he said, brushing her hair back from her face. She looked up at him and saw that his eyes were nearly black, his pupils blown wide open, making the blue of his irises stand out even more. They almost seemed to glow with the intensity of his gaze.

“Don’t apologize. It’s okay. I just need a moment.” She rested her head on his chest, her body still trembling as he wrapped his arms around her loosely, a calming hand stroking her hair. After a few deep breaths she looked back up at him, calmer but no less aroused. “I’ve just never done this before. I’m not used to all the sensations. My body feels like it’s on fire and yet I’m shivering.”

“That’s totally normal, _ mo chridhe _. It’s been a long time for me too.”

“So you want to do this? No regrets?”

“Yes. I would very much like to make love with you. But only if you’re ready. It’s your choice.”

Éowyn took a deep breath, embracing the thrumming of her body. “Yes, I would like that too. I very much want to, but…”

“But what?”

She smiled at him. “Maybe not up against a wall. At least not the first time.”

“I agree. There’s plenty of time for that later. For now, I want to see you, to show you just how much you mean to me. I want to take my time with you,” he said, taking a step back and holding out his hand to her. Éowyn took a steadying breath and slipped her hand into his. As they ascended the stairs to her room, _ their _ room, Éowyn felt a rush of anticipation. She had fantasized and dreamed about this so many times over the years and she almost couldn’t believe that it was happening.

Candle light filled the room, casting it in a warm, golden glow. Sebastian turned to her and took her other hand in his, raising them both to his lips, kissing each in turn. It was such a tender gesture that she was almost unprepared for it and her heart melted.

“I love you,” she said. “So much that it scares me.”

Sebastian raised his head, giving her a tender look. “And I you. Desperately. You and I were on such different paths and yet we found each other. I think that’s a kind of miracle.”

“I wish I had your way with words.”

“Words are nice, but there’s that saying about how sometimes actions speak louder than words, and you, my dear, can speak very loudly without saying a word.”

Éowyn frowned. “I’m not sure if you just insulted me or not.”

“It’s a compliment. Trust me,” he said, dropping her hands and slowly walked around behind her. His fingers trailed along her waist, tracing the bottom edge of the sash tied around her waist. Éowyn turned her head and watched him over her shoulder, her breath shallow. She felt the sash loosen as he slowly pulled at the ends; his breath warm on her bare shoulder. Her gown billowed at her waist without the sash holding it down. Sebastian ran his hands up her bare arms, his thumbs hooking under the thick straps of her dress and drew them over her shoulders. He pulled her hair to the side before leaning down and pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the juncture where her neck and shoulder met. 

Éowyn fisted her hands in the skirt of her dress, feeling that heat rise up in her again. Her eyes slid shut as his hand snaked around her waist, fingers splayed wide across her stomach. She let her head fall back to his shoulder, revelling in the sensations he was eliciting from her. As the moments ticked by the nerves she’d been feeling slipped away and she just let herself feel.

She felt him move around her so that he was standing in front of her again. Her heart sped up just a little bit when she opened her eyes again and watched as he drew her dress down further until it pooled into a puddle at her feet, leaving her standing before him in a thin, short shift and her small clothes. 

“Serrah Vael, you seem to have me at a bit of a disadvantage.”

He gave her a wicked smile and held his arms out to his sides. Biting her lower lip, she stepped forward and grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled it up and over his head. Her eyes widened when faced with his broad, bare chest. A sprinkling of coarse, springy hair spread across and down his chest. She reached out and lightly drew her fingers down his chest, his abdominal muscles tightening as she explored. His skin glowed a golden bronze in the candlelight, muscles taut under the skin. He had an archer’s body with wide shoulders and a narrow waist and her mouth went a little dry as she thought back to all the times they had been in battle, all the times he had pulled on that bowstring, his arrow nearly always reaching its target. Right at that moment with him looking at her the way he was, she very much felt like one of his targets.

Without taking her eyes off his, she reached down and pulled her shift over her head, letting it fall to the floor beside her. She waited, breath caught in her throat as he looked at her, looked at all of her, scars and all. While she wasn’t ashamed of them, each had been hard fought, evidence that she had survived, a small part of her hated them. 

“Maker’s mercy, you terrify me.”

Of all the things he could have said, that was the last she would have expected to hear. Upon seeing the confused look on her face, he reached out and traced the long jagged scar across her stomach, courtesy of the Arishok’s sword. There were others, more evidence of a hard fought life, but that one was the biggest.

She started to cover the scar but he stayed her hand and finished tracing its ugly path down her body. Before she could say anything, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her over to the bed. He laid her down gently, hovering over her while his hands continue to explore the rest of her body, finding other scars and treating them with a reverence she hadn’t expected. At his questioning glance, she nodded and with deft fingers he undid her breast band, flinging it off to the side. 

Her breath came out in small pants as he glided his fingers down the curve of her breast, the sharp contrast of his callouses against her skin made her shiver. Sebastian leaned forward then, kissing her deeply as he palmed her breast, his thumb drawing circles around her areola. The area between her legs began to throb and she felt her smalls grow damp. He moved slowly over her body and with such purpose that she finally understood what he meant by taking his time.

Her fingers dug into his hair as he worked his way down her throat and chest, slowly kissing each inch of skin until he reached her breast and replaced his hand with his mouth. She couldn’t help the sharp gasp that came from her throat when his mouth closed over its peak and he swirled his tongue around her nipple. Éowyn arched into his mouth, enjoying every sensation that flooded her body. A throaty moan filled the air when he switched to her other breast, teeth grazing lightly over her tender skin.

He moved further down her body, kissing along the same long scar that wrapped over her abdomen and further. Her body was visibly trembling by the time he reached her hip, the wetness between her legs soaking through her smalls. He raised his head, his eyes nearly black with desire, his nostrils flared as he inhaled her scent. 

“Are you okay? Do you want to continue?”

She smiled, her thumb brushing over the curve of his cheek. 

“Very much yes.”

His fingers made quick work of the stays to her smalls and they quickly followed to wherever her breastband had landed. She watched through lidded eyes as he kissed across her abdomen, his tongue dipping briefly into her navel in its journey to her other hip. His hands caressed the outside of her thighs and she felt his hot breath flow over her skin. Éowyn squirmed on the bed, the ache between her thighs growing more intense by the second.

Sebastian raised himself up, settling between her legs and kneeling before her. With gentle hands he spread her legs, opening her to him. Calloused fingertips moved over the soft skin of her inner thighs and she couldn’t help but squirm again. What he was doing was torture and she didn’t want him to stop.

“You take my breath away,” he said, sliding a hand up her inner thigh, teasing dangerously close to her center. “I want to have all of you.”

“You only have to ask,” she panted, shifting her hips again. His fingers brushed against her outer folds and she moaned as the nerves there lit on fire. He ran a single finger down the center of her and her eyes rolled back into her head as she let out another moan.

His fingers delved deeper, parting her outer folds, exploring every part of her. Her body jerked when he brushed against the sensitive nub of her clit and she couldn’t help but cry out. She arched into his hand, silently begging for more. More of what she wasn’t totally sure, she just knew that she wanted more.

She felt him place a firm hand on her hip just as he slid one finger into her, then a second, moving slowly as his thumb found her clit and drew slow circles around it. Her hips bucked involuntarily this time, taking his fingers in deeper. 

“Oh, Maker, don’t stop,” she moaned, her back arching. Her body didn’t feel like it was her own as a primal need rose to the surface. She felt like a tightly coiled spring, ready to burst at any second even as he slowly pumped his fingers into her. He alternated the pace between quick and slow, deep and light so that she could barely keep up. When she didn’t think she could take anymore, he removed his fingers from within her. She let out a small cry of protest and the bastard had the gall to chuckle.

He shifted and leaned down and kissed the valley between her breasts, retracing the path he’d taken just moments before, this time, instead of detouring to her hip, he nibbled straight down the center. Her core twitched when she felt his breath on her and she nearly leapt off the mattress when he darted his tongue out and dragged it between her folds. She tilted her hips, wanting more and he obliged, his tongue delving into her. He threw one arm over her hips to keep her from bucking as the other came up and kneaded her ass. 

Éowyn tossed her head to the side, her arm reaching behind her to clutch at her pillow. She could feel her body spiralling up, her breath coming in fast pants now as he shifted every so slightly and sucked on her clit as his fingers entered her again, stretching her as they slid in and out, curling into her. And then suddenly everything burst, his name a cry in the night as her orgasm rode over her. Her body went limp, sated and satisfied. She didn’t even protest when he removed his fingers this time.

Her eyes remained closed as she felt him move up her body until he was lying next to her. He held her loosely, a hand resting on her stomach as her breath and heartbeat returned to normal. Eventually she was able to open her eyes and turn her head towards him. His lips gently met hers and it was then that she felt him hot and hard against her leg.

“Do you know how many times I had to do penance because I thought of doing that to you?”

“Five?”

“Trust me, _ mo chridhe, _ it was a lot more than five.”

“But what about you?” she asked, running her hand down his side and stopping just at the waistband of his breeches.

“I can wait. I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“Do I look overwhelmed to you Sebastian? You said you wanted to make love with me, not just to me, so I’m thinking it’s your turn.”

She sat up, pushing him onto his back and reached for the laces to his breeches. He reached up to stay her hand but she swatted it away as she loosened the laces. Sebastian groaned as they came loose and she inhaled sharply as his cock pushed through, straining against his smalls. 

He grabbed her hands when she reached to pull down his breaches. Before she could protest, he shimmied out of them, his smalls going with them. Her breath caught in her throat as his cock sprung free. She reached out and touched the shaft, wonder filling her at the hard softness of him. A bead of cum pearled on the very tip and he let out a groan when she ran her thumb over it, his hips thrusting upwards. 

The world tilted and she found herself on her back with Sebastian settling between her legs. His mouth came down on hers, his tongue thrusting in as he linked his fingers with hers. She could feel his cock between them, rubbing against her and she felt herself grow wet again. He groaned against her lips as his hips jerked against her and he smoothed his other hand down her body, hooking it under her thigh so that her leg wrapped around his waist.

Raising his head, he looked at her, lust and love filling his eyes. Her breasts tingled as his chest hair rubbed against them. Desire coiled around her and all she could think about in that moment was having him in her.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Please. Now.”

He guided himself in with his hand, slowly sinking into her. He slid in, filling her more than she could have expected. His mouth found her lips again as he began to move, slowly at first and then speeding up, his thrusts going deeper as he lost himself in her. Éowyn met him as best she could, clumsy in her inexperience. Her body arched like a bow when he reached between them and found the spot where they joined, his fingers circling around her clit. Coming so fresh, so soon after her last orgasm it didn’t take long for her to reach that peak again. Her body growing taught and wrapping around him. She clenched around his cock as she came, her head flung back as she cried out. Stars blew behind her eyelids as he continued to move within her, harder and faster, chasing his own end. His mouth latched onto her shoulder when he gave one final thrust and spilled into her.

The silence afterward was almost deafening as they lay sprawled on the bed, completely spent. In all her imaginings, nothing compared to the real thing, to having another’s hands find those secret spots on her, to feel the weight of another person on her. 

She groaned softly when he slid out of her and turned them so that he lay on his back with her half on him. His hand smoothed down her spine as she snuggled into him, pleasantly exhausted. As the sweat dried on their skin she let out a small shiver and he pulled the sheet up over them. She was just drifting off to sleep when she heard him speak, the sound rumbling in his chest.

“I love you.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only took 23 chapters but the smut train finally came to town. _snerk_. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone for reading and commenting.
> 
> And I apologize ahead of time for the next couple of chapters.


	24. “Patience is not something I’m known for.”

“Is it just me, or are you walking a little funny?”

“I just stubbed my toe is all.”

“I’ve never heard it called that before. Will have to remember that one.”

“Shut up Isabela.”

“Oh, don’t get your smalls in a bunch. It’s just good to see you happy. You are happy, right?”

Éowyn smiled, looking out over the landscape before them. From this high up on Sundermount they could see for miles. Sunlight skimmed over the water, making it sparkle. Birds flew overhead, calling out to each other as they searched for their next meal. Lifting her face to the sun, she took a deep breath, enjoying the taste of fresh air.

She and Isabela were standing on one of the cliffs waiting for their companions to catch up. Merrill had gotten distracted by some plant she claimed to have never seen before and Aveline had volunteered to stay behind and stand guard. It was nice just having the women of their little ragtag group all together for once. As much as she valued all her friends there was something to be said about just being with the girls. Even if they were out hunting for a Crow assassin.

“Yes, I’m happy. If you’d told me even six months ago that I’d be married to him I’d have called you a damned liar. It’s not something that I dared to dream for the longest time.”

“Oh, I could have told you but yeah, you wouldn’t have believed me.”

She turned back to Isabela. Her friend was leaning against a large rock, studying her nails. “What do you mean?”

“Oh please, he was as gone over for you as you were for him. You both were just so caught up in your own heads that you couldn’t see it until it landed on your face and started to wiggle.”

“How colorful.”

“I call it like I see it.” She tilted her head to the side. “Do you know how painful it was watching you two dance around each other? There were times I wanted to shove the both of you in a closet and lock the door just to see if one of you would finally break. But I figured that one or both of you would probably pick the lock, which would spoil my fun.”

Éowyn snorted. She could just imagine it. Both of them caught together in a tiny space, in the dark. Hands accidentally touching, their bodies pressed up against each other as they fumbled. The idea did have merit even as she felt her cheeks grow warm at the thought of the two of them caught in such a situation.

“It’s probably for the best that you didn’t.”

“Ugh. You’re probably right. Patience is not something I’m known for, and I’ve had to practice it a _ lot _ over the last several years,” she said with an exaggerated sigh before she gave her a wicked grin. “So, tell me. Is he as good as I’ve imagined? Did he put that wild youth of his to good practice?”

Éowyn thought back to their wedding night and then the morning after and then later that afternoon. If she was walking a little funny, there was good reason for it.

“Oh, you have no idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all really didn't think that Isabela wasn't going to try to get details, did you? ;)


	25. “I could really eat something.”

“I could really eat something.”

“Really Hawke? I would have never guessed. I think people in Ferelden can hear your stomach growl. Could it be because you’ve been working up an appetite?”

Éowyn snorted. “I hardly call cleaning out a nest of ghouls a workout.”

“Oh that’s not the kind of workout--oof.” The rest of Isabela’s sentence was cut short when Éowyn elbowed her in the ribs. Taking no offense, her friend gave her a mischievous grin and waggled her eyebrows at her. Isabela had been like this since the wedding and while she sometimes found it amusing, there was a time and a place, and in front of the rest of their friends was not one of them.

“Well, they weren’t demons but those ghouls were quite nasty. Why wouldn’t they be a workout?”

“Oh, kitten, I’ll explain it to you later.”

“Yes, please. Explain it later. Far away from me.”

“Don’t be such a killjoy, Fenris.”

Éowyn just shook her head and continued down the street. She felt gross and was fairly certain that there were pieces of ghoul stuck in her hair. All she wanted was a hot bath and a good meal and a quiet evening alone with her husband.

Her husband. She still couldn’t quiet get used to the idea and part of her was afraid that this was some elaborate dream or that she was stuck in the Fade under the influence of a Desire demon. Her hand went up to her chest and touched the place were the locket lay under her armor. No. This was no dream or fantasy conjured by a demon. This was real.

They rounded the corner to her estate and saw a templar pacing in front of the doorway. He was helmetless and was anxiously running his hands through his hair. Éowyn’s stomach clenched. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

As they approached she recognized the young templar as the one that they had rescued from the fanatical apostate Tarohne. Keran had been so grateful that she had believed he wasn’t compromised, though Merrill’s assurances that he wasn’t possessed had helped in that area. She’d taken a big risk letting him go and convincing Knight-Captain Cullen that the boy was fine and not a danger to himself or others and that gamble seemed to have paid off. Since then she’d kept a watchful eye on the boy and he had proved to be the epitome of what a templar  _ should _ be. Given his experience with the blood mages it would have been very easy for him to go in the opposite direction and follow the path that of Ser Alrik and his ilk. Éowyn shuddered in remembrance. She wished that she could have killed the man twice for what he did.

As they drew closer, Keran looked up, relief mixed with terror written plain on his face. 

“Messere Hawke, I’m so glad to have found you.”

“What is it? Is it your sister?”

“No, Macha’s fine. I tried to stop them. I told them this wasn’t the way. You must believe me.”

“Stop who? Told them what? Keran, what has happened?”

“They took him. They took your husband.”

* * *

Sebastian’s head ached like a rotten tooth. It felt like he had downed a bottle of dwarven fire whiskey. He tried to shift to get in a more comfortable position but found that his arms were bound behind him, his back resting against a pole. When he opened his eyes he was faced with darkness and he realized that there was a hood pulled over his head. Moving his head only made the world spin so he closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. 

He tried to think back to what had happened. He remembered walking through the market, picking up some items he knew they were running low on. Despite the happiness of the last month, he knew that Éowyn was worried. Tensions between the mages and templars were only growing worse and it had even spilled over into their little band of misfits. He had found no less than three copies of Anders’ so-called manifesto stashed about the house in the last week and while he didn’t necessarily disagree with the man on some of his points, he knew that they upset Éowyn so he had tossed them into the fire and made sure they burned to ash before she found them.

He remembered leaving one of the alchemist’s stalls, his satchel full of ingredients to make more smoke bombs and poultices, when there had been a scuffle of feet behind him. Before he’d been able to turn around, invisible bands wrapped around him, paralyzing him before he could say a word. Then something had hit him over the head and the world had gone black. Now he could hear seagulls crying out to each other overhead and the crash of waves against rock. They must have taken him to somewhere on the Wounded Coast and panic seized him. If they had taken him, what about Éoywn? Had they gotten her too?

“Ah, look here lads. Seems like pretty boy is awake.” There was a sudden movement and the hood was yanked off his head. He winced at the sudden bright light and didn’t see the fist coming until it was too late. Pain erupted and he felt blood trickle down his face. “Not so pretty now, are you? You’ll be even less so by the time we’re done with you. Just have to wait for Hawke to get here so we can make her watch.”

“That’s enough Grace,” a voice snapped out. “We just want to talk with Hawke, make her see that the Knight-Commander has gone too far.”

“Gone too far?  _ Gone too far _ ? Thrask, that woman has allowed the templars to commit unspeakable atrocities against the mages. What Alrik did, what she allowed, they will all burn for it.”

Sebastian watched the exchange through blurry eyes. It was hard to concentrate on the conversation with the fog still clinging to his brain. 

“As for Hawke, she married a Chantry lacky. What makes you think that she’ll support the mages? The Chantry is what put us in this position to begin with.” The mage’s voice was filled with rage and even through the fog he could sense the power rolling off her. This was exactly what Éowyn was afraid of.

A shadow fell over him and a hand roughly gripped his hair, yanking his head up painfully. He saw a face twisted in anger and felt fear flash through him. Even in his state he could see that the woman was mad.

Grace leaned forward, her face just inches from his. “I won’t even use magic to flay you alive. I’ll show them that a mage doesn’t need magic to be dangerous.”

“Grace, I said enough!”

The mage slammed his head against the pole, snarling as she walked away. Ser Thrask knelt before him, offering a sip of water from a flask. Sebastian took it greedily, washing the taste of blood out of his mouth.

“I am sorry for this, Messere Vael, but I fear that it is the only way. This is not how-.”

Whatever Thrask had been about to say was interrupted by a fireball exploding in the middle of the camp. Sebastian watched, helpless, as battle erupted around him. He tried reaching for the small knife he had hidden up his gauntlet only to find it missing. They must have searched him before tying him up. 

A fierce cry of anger echoed in the air and he looked up to see Éowyn launching herself off a ledge at one of the abominations, her daggers already dripping with blood. He struggled at his restraints, desperate to help but could only watch as his wife and their friends fought an ever increasing wave of demons and abominations.

A body flew through the air and landed next to him. Looking over he saw the lifeless eyes of Ser Thrask staring back at him, large, bloody rents torn through his charred armor. Sebastian couldn’t help but feel pity for the man. He had genuinely wanted to improve the plight of mages in the Circle and he had been rewarded with a bloody death.

A wave of force power exploded through the camp, his head thrown back and connecting with the pole. His vision greyed in and out and it took everything in him to remain conscious. He had never felt so helpless as he did right now, knowing that he could do nothing to help, could not fight at Éowyn’s side and make sure she stayed safe.

His head lolled downward, too heavy for his neck to support. He heard voices shouting, feet scrambling over the ground. Something landed next to him, hands grasping at him. He felt the ropes binding him loosen and without their support he listed to the side. Hands grabbed his face and he heard a voice pleading with him, begging him to stay awake. With effort he opened his eyes and through his blurry vision he could see the faint image of Éowyn but it felt like she was so far away. 

Someone grabbed his jaw, forcing his mouth open and he felt the slightly musty taste of elfroot wash over his tongue. He choked a bit on the slimy brew but managed to swallow it. When he opened his eyes this time, her face was slightly in more focus but he had trouble forming words.

“Don’t you dare die on me. I will follow you into the Fade and drag you back, just watch me.” 

“Please, don’t you remember Hawke? Good Chantry boys don’t go to the Fade. They’re too holy for that.”

Her hands left his face and he heard the unmistakable sound of a nose breaking, followed by the scuffle of feet. If he’d been more conscious he would have seen both Isabela and Fenris struggling to hold Éowyn back while Anders lay on his ass holding his nose as blood spurt from it. He felt a hand on his forehead and the cool tingle of healing energy seep into his body. Opening his eyes he saw Merrill’s wide green ones staring back at him, tears seeping out the corners as she worked what little healing magic she had.

“She’s been mad with worry ever since she learned you were taken,” the elf whispered. “She was so scared. I’ve never seen her that scared before.”

“I have no plans to leave her anytime soon, Merrill.”

“Good. I don’t like seeing her cry.” She glanced over her shoulder and he saw the worry on her face. He followed her gaze and saw his wife, his Éowyn, covered in gore and blood as she shouted at Anders, cursing at him. 

“Neither do I,” he said as he struggled to sit upright. Though his vision was clearer now, his body was slow to respond to his commands. “Éowyn.”

She whirled toward him, ripping her arm out of Fenris’ grip, and rushed over to him. She was crying again, he saw, or still crying. Tears cut streaks through the blood that splattered her face. He could see the remnants of the terror she must have felt and his heart ached for her. He reached up and wiped the tears and blood from her cheek, giving her a weak smile.

“I’m okay, love, I’m okay.” 

Her face crumpled at his words and it was like a dam bursting as fresh tears began to fall. She fell into him, burying her face into his neck. Sebastian held her close, stroking her hair with one hand, whispering words of reassurance to her. 

“I’m okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's that? Twice in one day you say? Whelp, when inspiration strikes I take advantage of it! :D
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


	26. “You keep me warm.”

The world was on fire. Great gouts out it raged through the land and sky. Where the fire didn’t touch, rot and sick festered, killing anything that remained. Corpses numbered by the thousands, littering the landscape. All she could see was death.

Above her the sky swirled, sickly green as demons rained down upon all of Thedas. At every turn she was met by their evil, at every turn she fought them, and no matter how hard she fought she lost ground.

She couldn’t tell where she was. One minute she was in Ostagar, the next the Deep Roads, and then back in Lothering. Kirkwall. Sundermount. Vimmark Wastelands. Darktown. Viscount’s Keep. The Amell estate. Places she’d been to and knew well and others that were foreign to her, places she had never seen. The only constant was the roar of demons and the wail of the dying.

The landscape shifted one more time. The sickly green sky still boiled overhead but before her lay a wasteland where nothing lived but the crows that fed on the dead. Fire burned and ash filled the air and covered the land. Éowyn trudged forward, ice filling her veins despite the inferno raging around her. Bodies, blackened and charred by the fire lay before her and in her heart of hearts, she knew that their deaths were her fault; her hands were drenched in their blood.

_ your fault your fault your fault your fault your fault _

A chorus of the dead rose up, their chant echoing around and in her. Éowyn wanted to cower, to cover her ears and drown them out but she stood firm even as tears rolled down her face. She knew this was her fault, her responsibility, her failure.

_ I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I failed. I failed all of you and I’m sorry. _

She watched in horror as the dead rose, each wearing faces of the people she knew; friends, family, people she loved. A sob wrenched through her as they trudged toward her, their voices, their accusations ringing in her head.

_ This is but the beginning. I can bring you such pain, such fear, all in a single grain of ash. Just think of what I can do with a handful. _

A figure, giant and grotesque, wreathed in shadow rose behind the dead, its arms stretched out as if to encompass the world. As it grew in height before her, its shadow spread out, shrouding the hellscape. When its edges reached her, the chill in her veins turned frigid. Looking down at her hands she saw rot and ruin and the blood in her veins boiled with an icy fire. A fierce cry roared above her and this time she did cover her ears, fear sinking down into her very soul.

_ What was dead has now risen; what was once your salvation is now your ruin. _

Her legs gave way and she fell to the ground, the ash swirling up around her. The roar of the creature came closer. It was a dragon and yet not a dragon. It was fear incarnate.

_ You will die alone. Everything you’ve built will crumble and this world will be reborn. _

An emptiness filled her, empty and cold. Her body shivered as she crumbled to the ground. She watched as first her hands and then her arms turned to ash, the rest of her body following soon after. The ash swirled up into the air, the figure gathering it in and she knew that this was the end.

Éowyn’s eyes snapped open. Gone was the ash and fire, gone were the cries of the damned. Her tears remained. And the cold. She was trembling and she couldn’t stop. She wanted to move and yet she was paralyzed. Her body was curled in on itself, desperately trying to retain heat.

The bed shifted behind her and she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. She couldn’t help flinching. Every nerve was raw and exposed.

“It’s just a dream, _ mo chridhe. _You’re okay, it will pass,” Sebastian said. His voice was a soothing balm and she felt some of the tension in her body lessen. “You’re freezing. Let me get you another blanket.”

She clutched at his hand on her arm, fingers digging into his flesh. Turning over, she burrowed into him, using his heat to warm her frozen body.

“No, don’t go. I don’t need a blanket, I just need you. You keep me warm.”

His hand smoothed over her hair and he pressed his lips to the top of her head. As she lay there in his arms, the nightmare receded back into the corners of her mind. Here she found safety, here she found love, here she knew that she was not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo, yeah. That happened. Sorry not sorry.
> 
> If you're curious about the "handful of ash" line, I borrowed and adapted it from T.S. Eliot's poem [The Wasteland](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47311/the-waste-land). Could have been worse, could have gone with WB Yeats' The Second Coming.
> 
> Thanks for reading everyone! <3


	27. “Can you wait for me?”

Kirkwall was on the edge. All it would take was a tiny spark and it would explode. Éowyn knew that it was only a matter of time but she had hoped and prayed that something could be done to stop it from happening. It was a naive hope but she still hoped even as she despaired. Ever since she’d first had that nightmare there had been a crawling feeling of dread that haunted her daytime hours. 

Nausea boiled in her stomach. It was her near constant companion lately. Fatigue coming in at a close second. She was running on fumes and she knew that it was only a matter of time before it caught up with her. But she powered through it because what other choice did she have? Abandon Kirkwall to its fate? Let it fall further into anarchy? While it was true that the city had done her few favors in the near decade that she’d lived here, it had also given her things she had never dreamed of.

Éowyn turned away from the window and looked over at Sebastian. He was sprawled face down in their bed, exhausted and snoring softly. They had only just returned from a trip to the Undercity. It always broke her heart when they went down there. So many desperate people who had the bad luck of surviving the passage from Ferelden only to suffer here because of the archaic and heartless rules put forth by the Knight-Commander. In her opinion, it wasn’t just the tensions between mages and templars that they had to worry about, it was also the people who most of Kirkwall liked to pretend didn’t exist. She did what she could to help but she was only one person and it wasn’t enough.

They were fucked no matter what..

She turned back to the window and looked up at the night sky. Moonlight filtered through the scattered clouds, painting the city in a silvery light. She could see several nightwatch guards roaming the streets in pairs. No one patrolled alone anymore, not even here in Hightown. Aveline had been met with pushback on that, including from her husband, but she had stood firm, declaring that she wasn’t going to lose any guard members due to stubbornness and stupidity if she could help it.

A sudden chill went through her and she rubbed her arms to ward it off. Bouncing back and forth between chills and sweating was getting old. She really hoped that she wasn’t coming down with some illness. She couldn’t afford to be sick, not now. No matter how much she hated it, too many people depended on her. It often felt like she had taken on the Viscount mantel but without the fancy crown and she hated it. When Aveline had floated the idea months ago she had shut that line of thought down. She knew her strengths and politics was not one of them. The nobles were enough of a pain in the ass as it was, she didn’t even want to think what they’d be like if she were Viscountess. Besides, Seneschal Bran would probably run away to the Anderfels and then she’d have to rope Varric into helping her. No one else was as good at dealing with bullshit as he was.

Her stomach took that moment to growl, rumbling loudly throughout the room. Éowyn scowled and tried to think if there was anything besides travel rations in the room but even as the thought went through her head, she realized that she wanted something a little more substantial than travel rations. 

She snagged her robe and tiptoed out of the room, not wanting to wake Sebastian. It was bad enough that she couldn’t sleep, she didn’t want him to suffer.

The house was quiet as she made her way downstairs and into the kitchen. She stood there for a moment, staring at the larder, paralyzed by choice and her indecisive stomach. Hunger still gnawed at her but nothing looked appetizing in the least.

“So you’re the mouse that’s been snooping around in the pantry.” A pair of arms snaked around her waist, pulling her back against a hard chest. She smiled as he placed a kissed just under her jaw. “Looking for a midnight snack?”

“I was trying to. Nothing looks good.” She turned in his arms and took a good look. He was as gorgeous as ever but there were faint dark circles under his eyes. She wasn’t the only one who was burning the midnight oil in trying to keep the city from burning. “I didn’t mean to wake you. You need your rest.”

“As do you,  _ mo chridhe, _ ” he said, running his thumb over the shallow dent in her chin. “You’ve gotten very little rest as of late. It worries me.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sure you are, lass. That’s why you’re up pacing back and forth.”

“I wasn’t pacing. I was standing at the window.”

“My mistake then.” He brushed her hair back from her face, tracing the curve of her cheek. “Would that I could take all these worries from your shoulders.”

“I don’t think that even Andraste can help with this. A person, saint, or god can only do so much when people aren’t willing to listen.”

“I suppose that’s true. Can you do me a favor though?”

Éowyn looked up at him, wary. There was something in his tone that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“Depends on the favor. Lots of people have been asking for favors lately. My diary’s nearly full.”

“Smartass. I’m trying to be serious here.”

“Sorry, what’s the favor?”

“If something happens, something big, and I’m not here, can you wait for me? I don’t like the idea of you rushing off into danger.”

Éowyn wrinkled her nose at him. “I’m a big girl, Sebastian. I can take care of myself.”

“It’s not…” he sighed, closing his eyes briefly. “It’s not any doubt in your abilities. You are quite terrifying and I wouldn’t want to be your enemy. I just… I just want, no, I  _ need _ you to be safe. I would survive if I lost you but I don’t think that I would live.”

She let out a slow breath, briefly closing her eyes. The last thing in the world she wanted to do was cause him pain, intentional or otherwise, but she still had to remain true to herself. Opening her eyes, she reached up and cupped his face with her hands.

“I promise to try. I would sooner rip off my left arm than cause you pain but I can’t absolutely promise that I won’t take action if you’re not at my side.”

Sebastian bowed his head, covering her hands with his. “I suppose that’s all I can ask then.”

“I could ask the same of you, you know. If I lost you, I… I don’t know what I would do.”

“We’ll just have to do our very best to make sure that neither of us have to find out. Deal?”

“Deal.” Éowyn smiled, leaning up to kiss him. “Do you think you can make some pancakes? I have a sudden craving.”

“Now that,  _ mo chridhe _ , I can absolutely promise.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing to see here. Everything's fine.
> 
> Thanks everyone for reading! You're the best. <3


	28. “Enough! I've heard enough.”

Panic, sheer and utter panic ran through her, causing her to feel lightheaded enough to have to sit down. At least that’s what she told herself. She dropped her head between her knees and focused on her breathing. This couldn’t be happening.

“Hawke? Are you okay?” asked Merrill. Éowyn knew without looking up that the elf was wringing her hands, trying to restrain herself from hugging her. She knew her well enough to know that the hug wasn’t welcome. Not yet anyway.

“Define okay.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath in and slowly let it out. “Are you sure? You couldn’t be mistaken?” she asked already knowing the answer. She wouldn’t have asked Merrill to come if she hadn’t already suspected.

“I’m not a healer like Anders. You should really ask him, I mean-.”

“No, I don’t want him anywhere near this,” Éowyn said sharply. Sitting up, she gave her friend an even stare. “Are you sure?”

“I think, well, yes. I’m sure,” she paused. “What are you going to do?”

Éowyn stared into the fire, watching the flames dance with dread. Of all the things she had faced in her life, all the battles she had fought, this terrified her the most.

“I don’t know. I-.”

The rest of her answer was cut off by shouting coming from below. Darting a glance at Merrill, she tightened the belt to her robe and dashed out the door. From the balcony she saw Varric, Isabela, and Fenris arguing amongst themselves, their voices growing louder with each word. She couldn’t quite make out what they were saying but from their tone it was not good. Dread filled her that had nothing to do with the conversation she’d just had with Merrill.

Varric looked up from the main floor and spied her standing on the balcony. The look of resignation and sadness on his face made her want to cry.

“Hawke, we’ve got a problem, a big fucking problem. You need to get your armor and your blades. We’re going to need them.”

* * *

“Anders, what have you done?”

“What had to be done. There is no turning back.”

Éowyn stared in horror as the Chantry tower started to glow a sickly red and burst in a gout of flame and ash. Seconds later the blast wave hit her, shoving her back several feet. Only Fenris’ hand at her back kept her from falling over. Even from Lowtown they could feel the heat of the explosion. Just what had Anders done?

“I removed the chance for compromise,” he said with only a faint tinge of regret. “Mages are being slaughtered by those who claim that they protect them. Little has been done to protect the mages here in Kirkwall and beyond. Not even you, Hawke, whose own sister is a mage. You tossed her to the Wardens and just walked away.”

“It was you who suggested it, you bastard. You said it would save her from the taint. But this?” Éowyn flung her arm out, gesturing to the chaos raining down upon the city. Even the qunari uprising hadn’t been this bad. “Do you honestly think that this will help the mages? You’ve started a fucking war Anders and the very people you claim to want to protect will suffer.”

“Better a quick death than one lived under tyranny.” Anders’ eyes flashed blue, the veins in his skin glowing with the same light. Fear curdled in her stomach and she couldn’t help but take a step back. Involuntarily she placed a hand on her stomach and tried not to think about what was growing there.

“He must pay for his crimes, Éowyn. He wants no compromise? He shall have it.”

Éowyn looked over at Sebastian and felt her heart tear. For all the tension between him and the Grand Cleric, tension created by their marriage, Elthina was still important to him, he still loved her, and now she was dead, killed by an abomination. Looking at him now she was forced to wonder just how much of Anders was left; more than that, had there even been an Anders to begin with or had it been Justice, now Vengeance, all along?

He had been her friend though. A whiny and sometimes petulant friend when he didn’t get his way, but a friend nonetheless. Could she kill him?

“You must do it, Hawke. There is no other option. If you want to stop Vengeance, you must kill me.”

She thought again of the life growing within her, the lives of the people she loved, and those of the innocents in Kirkwall and beyond and knew that there was only one option.

“Enough! I’ve heard enough. Anders, Justice, Vengeance, whatever you’re calling yourself now, there’s no justification for what you’ve done here today. I may be making a martyr out of you, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

In a blur, her knife slid out of its sheath and she slashed it across his throat, cutting deep. Anders gurgled as he fell to his knees. Blood sprayed out, splattering her face and armor. She watched as his blood spilled out onto the stone and his life left his body. Doubt prickled through her as she watched. Would he stay dead? Would Vengeance allow him to die or would it take over his corpse just as it had Warden Kristoff? Maker, she prayed it was the former. She didn’t think she could handle having to kill him twice.

She dimly realized that there were voices shouting behind her but she couldn’t look away from the body now lying on the ground. Had she done the right thing?

“No! You cannot condemn all mages for the actions of one.”

“My hand is forced, Orsino. The Grand Cleric is dead. Justice must be sought.”

Éowyn turned toward the Knight-Commander, rage filling her. “Justice _ has _ been served, Meredith,” she said, pointing to Anders’ body. “There he lies, dead, and you want to punish all for his actions? You’ve been looking for an excuse to annul the Circle for years now, and now you think you’ve found it. Tell me, _ Knight-Commander _, are you doing this to avenge the death of all the people who died today or for your own ego and glory?”

“How dare you. I serve at the Maker’s will. I will not be opposed in this.”

“It would seem that you are.”

Meredith snarled at her as she rounded up her templars and marched out of the area. Éowyn watched her go knowing that they would soon meet again, this time with blades, and found that she was okay with that. Meredith was a tyrant and many of Kirkwall’s troubles could be laid at her feet. Even so, there was something off in her proclamation of executing all mages. Éowyn couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but there was an aura about the woman that put a pit in her stomach.

She looked at Sebastian. She needed to tell him. Before something happened. Before it was too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mea culpa.


	29. “I’m doing this for you.”

“Champion, you should go.”

Éowyn couldn’t take her gaze from the red crystalline form that had once been Knight-Commander Meredith. She felt like an idiot for not recognizing the red lyrium sooner. Where had Meredith heard about it, much less gotten her hands on it? Bartrand had said that he sold it, saying the buyer’s heart was as cold as ice. That was an apt description of Meredith if she ever heard one, but why would she keep such a dangerous object? Why, for Andraste’s sake, had she melted it down and had it made into a giant fucking sword?

All questions to which she would never get answers for.

“Hawke, you need to go. Now. The templars here know what you’ve done for us, but the others won’t understand. For your own safety, you must leave.”

Éowyn finally looked up from the horrible visage before her, knowing that she’d be dreaming of it for months if not years, and met Knight-Captain Cullen’s eyes. She’d had several dealings with the man over the years; their first meeting left something to be desired, but she’d come to see that despite everything, he wanted to do what was right. He may have been slow to the party in recognizing Meredith’s madness for what it was but he had stood up to her in the end. That had to count for something. Right?

“Thank you.” Turning around she saw all of her friends, as well as several others she had helped over the years. They had stuck with her until the end. She wondered if they realized that they all had targets on their heads as a result of what had happened here. Despite their disagreements and differences, they had all come together and followed her into the Gallows, and for that she could never repay them.

She took up Sebastian’s hand and gave him a tired smile. Together they walked out of the Gallows and into an uncertain future.

* * *

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

Éowyn sat on her bedroll, clutching her hands together. They were two days out of Kirkwall and now was the first quiet moment she’d been able to find to talk with him. It had been a whirlwind getting out of the city. Hightown was pure chaos, all of Kirkwall was. The guard was doing their best to put out the fires and evacuate the injured but wrangling a panicked people was easier said than done. As much as she wanted to stay and help, Cullen’s warning was ever present in her mind. Once the rest of the Free Marcher templars heard about what had happened, they would descend upon Kirkwall in fury. She and Sebastian only lingered long enough to gather the essentials from the estate before sneaking out the west gate.

She’d collapsed into her bedroll last night, falling asleep almost immediately, exhaustion taking her over. They’d woken at dawn and made the difficult trek over the Vimmark’s almost in total silence. She had plenty of time to think about what needed to be done next, how she, how  _ they _ were going to prepare for the future, and she still had no good answer. They’d never spoken of children so she had no idea how he was going to react. 

Éowyn glanced over at their remaining companions. Aveline, Varric, and Merrill had stayed behind to help the recovery and help spread rumors about where she had gone. Only Fenris and Isabela were still with them and they were sitting on the far side of the camp, draining the last bottle of wine Fenris had liberated from Danarius’ cellar.

“What is it?” When she didn’t answer right away, Sebastian looked up from the fire where he was roasting a rabbit he’d snared earlier. “Éowyn? What is wrong?”

She laughed. She couldn’t help it, but she laughed. Laughed until her stomach hurt, laughed until the tears came. 

“What’s wrong? The world’s burning Sebastian. It’s fucking burning and I’m going to bring a child into it.”

The silence that fell in the small clearing would have been comical if not for the panic and fear that clawed through her. It was as if the world held its breath out of respect and in anticipation of the reaction. She curled in on herself, elbows on her knees and her head in her hands, the weight of it all finally crashing down on her.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. I’ve suspected for a while. Merrill confirmed it two days ago.”

“How far along?”

Éowyn squeezed her eyes shut tightly. He was so calm about it. How in all of creation was he so calm?

“A little over two months. I think. Could be three. I’m not sure.”

There was another moment of silence as the news settled in. And then Isabela spoke.

“Maker preserve us. There’s going to be a little Hawke toddling around in about six months. I don’t think the world is prepared for that,” she drawled before letting out a yelp. “Ow, Fenris, what was that for?”

Éowyn couldn’t help the snort that came out. Leave it to Isabela to say something outlandish to break the tension. It almost worked.

She heard Sebastian kneel before her and seconds later felt his hands on hers. It only took a little urging for him to get her to raise her head. He gently wiped the tears from her cheeks, a sad smile on his face.

“What are we going to do? We have no home, no income. I don’t want to raise a child in the wilds.”

“It will be okay, Éowyn. We’ll make it through this together. You and I, we can do this.”

“How? How Sebastian? All I own is in that satchel.”

“I have faith. Together we can do this.”

“Don’t think for a second that we’re going to let you two do this alone. Cause fuck me if I’m going to let my niece or nephew be born in a cave. You really want Starkhaven back? We’ll help.”

“Isabela, you don’t-.”

“Don’t you dare, don’t you even dare Hawke. I’m doing this for you, for both of you. And so is Fenris. You’ve done a lot for us over the years and now it’s our turn to help. So you both can stuff your pride and let us help.”

“Even though she didn’t ask me,” Fenris said, giving Isabela a pointed look. Isabela rolled her eyes, unaffected by his glare. “She’s right. You helped free me from Danarius. You gave me a family. The least I can do is help you in this.”

Éowyn wasn’t sure what to say. For so many years she’d been the one helping others that to be on the receiving end of it felt odd. 

“See,  _ mo ghra _ , I told you. Faith. We’ll make it. All three of us.”

“You do remember that twins run in my family, right?” she said, and then laughed for the first time in what felt like days when his face blanched. She leaned forward and gave him a lingering kiss before resting her forehead on his. “Okay, let’s do this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Isabela will totally be the Vodka Aunt. Or the Thedosian equivalent anyway.


	30. “I’m with you, you know that.”

_ Four Years Later… _

Moonlight spilled over the Minanter river valley; Satina hid its sister moon, providing half the light they normally did, but it allowed the stars to shine more brightly than normal. Éowyn let out a sigh of contentment as she stood on the balcony enjoying a rare quiet moment. Ten years in Kirkwall had not prepared her for motherhood but she liked to think that she was handling it well. She survived the Arishok and the battle in the Gallows, dealt with blood mages and idiot Orlesians, but nothing had prepared her for the seemingly never-ending variations of shit her daughter produced in her first few months of life. Based on her experience in helping to raise Bethany and Carver she knew better than to think that those days were gone; it was only a matter of time before the snot parade came to town again.

A pair of hands snaked around her waist, pulling her against a hard chest. Warm lips touched her bare shoulder, whiskers scraping against her skin. Éowyn shuddered even as she leaned back into him, a smile on her lips.

“You should be sleeping.” His voice was rough with sleep, his brogue slightly thicker in the late hours of the night.

“So should you. Don’t you have that meeting with the local lords tomorrow?”

“Aye, but I woke up and was missing you.”

Éowyn smiled and closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of his arms around her. They didn’t have many quiet moments these days, not with having to balance raising a rambunctious four-year-old and running a city. It was a toss-up some days as to which one was more difficult but there was no question as to which one gave her the most joy. From the first moment she’d held Meghan in her arms she knew that she would do anything to protect her. Anything.

“You’re getting sappy in your old age,” she said, yelping when he pinched her. “Okay, middle age. The beard’s not helping your case honestly.”

“Meghan says it makes me look distinguished.”

“Meghan is four and was probably trying to weasel some chocolate from you. She knows a soft touch when she sees one.”

“You’re one to talk. I know for a fact that you had a pair of wooden daggers made for her,” he said, nibbling up her neck.

“That’s just practical. Best to start early,” she managed, gasping when he took her earlobe between his teeth and tugged lightly on it. “You have about five hours or so to stop that.”

“Only five hours? Hmmmm. Guess I’ll have to get creative.” Both hands slid up her body, cupping her breasts. Éowyn arched into them, reaching one hand up behind her to grab his head as she turned her head to kiss him. It still amazed her all these years later how with just a few touches he could make her body sing. She turned around in his arms and reached down, palming him through the loose breeches he wore, her lips curving against his when she discovered that he was already hot and hard. It was gratifying to know that she was able to elicit a similar response in him.

Just as he was dragging up her nightshirt a piercing wail shattered the night. Éowyn snapped back from Sebastian, the sound of their daughter screaming dousing their intimate moment like ice. They both dashed out of their room and down the hallway to Meghan’s room. Éowyn slammed through the door, fear clawing at her. She’d never heard such terror in her daughter’s voice before.

Meghan’s sheets were soaked with sweat but she was icy cold when Éowyn reached her and pulled her into her arms. Sebastian sat on the other side, his hand on Meghan’s back. They locked eyes over their daughter’s head, worry settling in both of them. Giant sobs wracked Meghan’s small body, her hands clutching at Éowyn’s nightshirt.

“Sshhh, it’s okay midget. It was just a bad dream. We have you.”

“Monsters. Monsters everywhere.”

“They won’t get you. Both your da and I will fight them off. They won’t get you.”

“They’re falling from the sky, Momma. They’re everywhere.”

“I’m with you, we both are, you know that. We’ll keep you safe.”

Meghan raised her head, her father’s eyes staring out from her face. Tears streamed down her face, naked fear plain on her face.

“No one is safe, Momma. Nowhere is safe,” she whispered.

Before Éowyn could ask her what she meant, something rumbled over the manor. At first Éowyn thought it might be a dragon, especially with the way the floor vibrated, but she quickly realized that roar wasn’t quite right. She transferred Meghan to Sebastian and went to the balcony, looking to the west. She could see no danger in the immediate vicinity. Alarm bells rang off below, interspersed by shouts from the guards. The sky rumbled again though there were no clouds in sight. In the far distance, almost beyond the edge of the earth there was a green flash. It was just a blot on the horizon but still bright enough for her to see, for dread to crawl through her belly.

Something had just gone horribly wrong.

“Sebastian.”

“I see it.”

* * *

Warden Stroud showed up three weeks later, asking for her help. She hesitated. Yes, he had helped to save Bethany from the taint but she had left that life behind after Kirkwall; had found different ways to help people. She had a family now, a child. She couldn’t just go off on an adventure. Things were different now.

When the letter from Varric came a week later she knew she had no other choice but to go.

* * *

Éowyn looked around her, her skin crawling as she surveyed the warped landscape around them and the giant demon that towered above them. Inquisitor Trevelyan looked wiped. She remembered that feeling, remembered feeling that hopelessness. They had defeated the Fear demon, barely, but now the Nightmare edged closer, blocking their exit. This is what Corypheus was trying to bring into the world. This Nightmare would rampage across the land, destroying everything in its path. If someone didn’t keep it here, it would help Corypheus in his mission to remake the world in his image.

She couldn’t allow that to happen.

“Inquisitor, you need to go. I’ll distract it so you can escape.”

“What? No. I’m not leaving you here.”

“The Wardens caused this. It should be a Warden who fixes it.”

Éowyn looked at Stroud. “No, the Wardens are needed. They’ll need a strong leader to rebuild after this mess. I’m the only logical choice to stay behind.”

“But your family. What about them?”

Éowyn gave Bríghid Trevelyan a sad smile. The woman hadn’t asked for her position. Chance and fate had been forced upon her and even though she strained against the title of Herald, the younger woman brought an army together to fight Corypheus. She did what was necessary to win. Not so long ago Éowyn had been in a similar position.

“I’ll see them again. Say goodbye to Varric for me.”

Before they could protest, Éowyn pulled out her daggers, activating the fire runes inscribed upon them and charged the Nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, now. Before y'all start yelling and throwing rotten vegetables at me, I'm not done yet AND this ties in with my [Hawke's Nightmare](https://archiveofourown.org/series/260635) stories.


	31. “Scared, me?”

“You know, Hawke, considering everything, I would think you’d be used to these things by now.”

Isabela was lounging on a settee, smiling at Éowyn over the rim of her wine glass. Éowyn scowled at her in her reflection as she finished pinning her hair back.

“Being used to them and liking them are two different things. I’ve learned to tolerate them to varying degrees depending on who’s present.” Shoving the last pin in, she decided that it would have to do. After her miraculous return from the Fade they’d had to cut her hair nearly to her scalp; it hadn’t been that short since Ostagar. She’d let it grow long after the Kirkwall Rebellion and it was weird to see the ghost of her past-self reflected back in the mirror. Weeks later it was now just barely to her shoulders, long enough to be an annoyance and just short enough to make it difficult to do anything with it.

“True. These Starkhaven nobles are certainly their own breed. Like kissing cousins to those in Orlais.” She sat up, setting her glass on the table. “Are you sure you’re ready for this. It’s the first big event since your, ah, most recent adventure.”

“I don’t think I have a choice. Sebastian’s put it off as long as he could. We decided that it’s best to control the situation. The nobles,” and here she made a disgusted face. “They’ve been rather insistent upon this.”

Isabela’s lips curved into a smirk. “You know, most little girls dream of marrying a prince.”

“I think it’s been well established that I was not a normal little girl.”

“And yet you married a prince.”

“I married a man who just happens to be a prince. I would have married him if he was a dirt poor farmer. I would have married him if he’d stayed in the Chantry.”

“You would have been miserable as a sister.”

“Probably. But that’s not how it turned out, thank the Maker.”

Isabela snorted. “Oh, you know very well that the Maker had nothing to do with it. A little birdie told me that Elthina had been willing to marry the two of you if you both had committed fully to the Chantry, chaste marriage and all. Your Choir Boy turned her down flat.”

Éowyn stared down at the plain gold ring that adorned her left hand, gnawing on her lower lip. By refusing the Grand Cleric, he had chosen her over a life in the Chantry. She had to wonder what it had cost him to refuse the Grand Cleric’s demand. In the intervening years, she’s had no cause to doubt. He had stayed by her side through everything and she knew beyond a doubt that he loved her but she couldn’t help but think what her life would be like if he had acquiesced to Elthina’s demand. Would she have still married him? Would she have joined him behind the walls of the Chantry? 

She might have. She would have been miserable though and in the end possibly resenting him, Elthina, and the Chantry for putting that choice before her. 

“Oh, stop right there. I see that melancholy look on your face. This is supposed to be a celebration. And you look fabulous in that dress.”

“Indeed she does.” Éowyn looked up and watched through the mirror’s reflection as Sebastian entered the room. Her eyes widened at his outfit. She whirled around and took him in.

“Are you wearing a skirt, Vael? That looks like a skirt.”

“It’s a kilt, traditional garb of Starkhaven. People don’t wear them very often anymore but I felt that this occasion called for it,” he told Isabela without taking his eyes off Éowyn. He looked at her as if he could see into her very soul and she caught a hungry gleam behind his eyes, a look she well recognized. She swallowed heavily and wonder just what, if anything, he was wearing under that kilt.

Easily picking up on the building sexual tension, Isabela set her glass of wine on a side table. “I think I’m going to track down the midget, make sure she’s ready.”

Isabela sashayed out of the room, her red gown shimmering as she moved. As she reached the door, she glanced over her shoulder, a sly grin growing on her face. “Behave yourselves, you two. You have a ceremony to get through before doing the horizontal Remigold.”

Sebastian rubbed the back of his neck as a flush ran up Éowyn’s cheeks. Leave it to Isabela to know exactly what was going through her mind. 

“I’m still not sure why we’re doing this. We’ve been married for almost five years now. Why do we need some fancy, overwrought ceremony? We don’t need to prove anything to them.”

“No, perhaps not, but it will quieten some of the rumbling from the more, ah, let’s say, _ traditional _ members of the Starkhaven nobility.” An amused look crossed over his face. “You’re not scared, are you?”

“Scared, me? Please. I’ve fought qunari, blood mages, and giant demons. I should think I can handle a bunch of nobles.”

A shadow crossed over his face. He reached out and ran his fingers over the large scar that wrapped around her arm, a little thank you gift from the Fade. The dressmaker from Orlais had tried to convince, persuade, and bribe her into wearing long sleeves to cover the scars but she had adamantly refused. If these nobles were going to insist upon seeing a wedding, insist on a confirmation of her as Princess of Starkhaven, they were going to see that she was no wilting flower and would take on any comers who dared to challenge her right to be here. They were lucky that she wasn't going to wear her daggers.

She covered his hand with his, knowing that he needed this moment to reassure himself that she was okay, that she was alive and at his side. 

“Remember that promise you made to me the night before our first wedding? The one where you promised to stay with me until the end and beyond. I made that same promise.” She placed her other hand over his heart. “You gave this to me and I gave you mine. As long as we both wish and want it, our hearts belong to each other. I’m not going anywhere. Come what may, you're stuck with me."

He dragged his eyes up to hers, the shadow leaving his face, replaced by a smile. “You’re supposed to save the vows for the ceremony.”

“We’ll just keep this our little secret.” She leaned up and kissed him, drawing out the kiss until they were both nearly out of breath. When she pulled back, she gave him a wicked smile. “Let’s go get this over with. I’m very curious to find out what’s under this kilt of yours. And, I might have a surprise or two for you later.’

At his groan, laughter bubbled out of her. She wove her fingers between his and kissed him again, savoring the taste of his lips against hers.

“Let’s go get married. Again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it! Éowyn and Sebastian's story has been rumbling around in the back of my mind ever since DA2 came out and I've finally gotten around to writing some of it down and sharing it with you all. There's more to tell and maybe some day I'll get around to writing the "unabridged" version of Come What May, but I'm glad that I was able to share this much.
> 
> Naturally I have a [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5jcEDryvcQHOrm6CM5ykJp?si=S7h7qk05QqqGM-Zg529y2w) for them that I've had forever. Take a listen if you're curious. :)
> 
> And a great big thank you to all who've been reading this, leaving comments and kudos. I love you all. <3


End file.
